


Shadows of the Past: Nicky's Story

by htfrjolenz



Series: The Adventures and Perils of Davy Jones [10]
Category: The Monkees
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-07-16 03:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16076981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htfrjolenz/pseuds/htfrjolenz
Summary: Series follower to "In Dependence"Davy's brother Nicky comes home to spend summer break with Davy. A surprise is lurking in the shadows - seeking revenge - and Nicky is the prime target ..





	1. Chapter 1

  
"I cahn't _wait_  to see Nicky," Davy rambled on for the hundredth time in two days, "I've got everything planned for the two weeks 'es gonna be 'ere!"

"I hope you have plans to be at the gigs we have lined up, since you won't be here doin' your share of the chores," Mike said.

".. or the cooking," Peter added.

"Or _me_ , " Micky chided.

"Aw come on fellas, I told you I'd make up my share of the work - n of course I'm gonna make the shows - it took us ferevah to get them!"

"We're just teasing you Tiny," Mike grinned, "all of us are happy that you and Nicky are spending time together. "

"Be sure to get lots of pictures of the two of you surfing Davy, and anything else that you guys do! "

"We will Petah, the one thing we Jones boys do almost as well as we do sports - is bragging about it ahftah!" He laughed.

"Could ya at least leave your lips behind, " Micky whined, "I'm gonna be lonely without you for two weeks."

"I'll make _that_  up to you too babe," Davy cooed, his forehead pressed against Micky's, "you can _count_  on it! "

"You ready kiddo?" Tony called as he breezed through the front door.

"Yessir I sure am - all packed and set to go. I just need to grab a sandwich or somethin' 'fore we head out."

"He's been ready to go for three days, he's so psyched about this trip," Micky chimed in.

"I figured we'd grab something to eat when we gas up on the way out Davy - and Mike, thanks again for the use of the jeep, I really appreciate it; Much better on gas, better for driving on the dunes."

"Oh your more'n welcome Tony, like I said, anytime."

"Alright then, let's hit the road kiddo, we don't wanna be late meeting Nicky's plane."

"Don't **_LEAVE_**  me!" Micky cried theatrically, diving to the floor and grabbing hold of Davy's leg.

"Oh my good grief Mick will ya get hold of yourself?" Mike said, rolling his eyes, as he detached the young Italian from his junior band mate.

"Babe I'll see you in 6 days at the first show! Now kiss me and go getcha snuggle bear and take a nap," Davy grinned.

"You guys be safe and have a great time!"

"We will, thanks Petah!"

"Thank you Peter, see you all next week!"

* * * * *

  
"Ya sure dat's da right kid Marco? He looks different to me."

The two men spoke in hushed tones in thickly laced Brooklyn-Italian accents, watching the dark haired young man exiting from the arrival gate.

"Course he looks different you ijit, he's older now -I'm tellin ya dat's him - Martinelli's little brudda!"

"So let's nab him before he gets away!"

"Dis is why I'm in charge of tings and not you: If we nab him here at the airport dere's too many people around and somebody will see. We're gonna follow him and we'll nab him when he's alone."

"Gosh Marco ya sure are smart."

"I got da family brains _and_  da good looks Sal."

"What did I get?"

"Big ears and a bigger mouth. Let's keep an eye on da kid."

  
The grin on Nicky's face was equalled only by that of his younger brother's as they met in the main lobby of LAX, practically knocking one another over as they barreled into each others arms. Tony standing by with pride etched into his handsome features waited for the two to part so he could have his turn greeting the older of the two lads.  
"Look at you short stack, you buffed up! Have you been hitting the gym or something?" Nicky said ruffling Davy's hair.  
"Naa, jus' been pumping some weights at the house. You - yer gettin' a gut on ya yeah - eating too much of yer own cooking Bubba?" Davy teased, patting Nicky's tummy bulge.  
"Mine and … someone else's. I've been sort of seeing somebody …" he trailed off, reaching out to embrace Tony.  
"Ahh Nicky, il mio amore, così bello per vederti di nuovo! Who is this boy you're seeing - is he good to you? Good enough for you?"  
"Yes Papi," Nicky chuckled, "you taught me to settle for nothing less."  
"That's my boy! Come on kiddo let's get going, had to park way out in one of the back lots, this place is a zoo today."  
The three men headed out the doors for the long trek to the jeep, none of them noticing the two sinister looking men shadowing them as they went.

"Mick wouldja please stop moping around the house man, he's only been gone a couple of hours!"  
"We'll see him soon enough Micky," Peter tried to soothe, "let's play some checkers!" He offered, setting up the board.  
Rolling his eyes, Micky tossed a throw-pillow his way, checkers pinging in several directions.  
"Hey, my checkers!"  
"Man don't antagonize poor Peter just because you're missin Davy. Go for a walk or a swim - anything to change that rotten mood."  
Huffing, Micky forced himself up off of the sofa, pouty and still surly he made his way out the bay doors to the beach below: Mike was right and he knew it, but he wasn't used to being without his little one for so long and he had a bad case of the grumpies. Maybe a little fresh air and sunshine were in order, as pouting in the beach house hadn't done any good at all. He was soon joined by his band mates, and they found themselves romping on the sand and splashing about in the ocean, his misery all but forgotten.

  
"Wow, I swear we walked two miles to get out to the car," Nicky cajoled, opening the back door to throw in his luggage, "Bout need a gallon of water to refill my tank. Have you two had lunch! I'm practic-"  
"Dat'll be far anuff gen'lemen," a gruff voice called out to them, "I believe ya ride is dis way."  
The three turned to face two burly men in knock-off suits, pointing cold, blue steel in their direction - frozen in place - recognition and panic in Tony's keen eyes.  
"Anybody tries ta run and the little one here gets a lead lunch," the lead man threatened, grabbing Davy up by his arm, his forty-five jammed into his ribs.  
"What do you want Valducci?" Tony asked, venom in his tone.  
"You's three come quietly and you'll find out soon enough Martinelli. This way, lets go."  
With a gun continuously pressed to Davy's side and another trained on Nicky, the three obediently marched in the direction they were pointed, silently and with great trepidation. After several minutes they came to a fairly empty parking lot and were stopped at a black Lincoln, Davy being unceremoniously slammed against the rear quarter panel, his right arm twisted painfully behind his back. In a flash, the two younger men found themselves being shoved together into the vehicle's huge trunk, hands and feet bound, duct tape over their eyes and mouths. Tony was forced into the back seat with Sal, his hands tied, his mouth taped shut. Marco slid behind the wheel and they drove off, unnoticed by a single soul.  
An hour later the luxury car parked in front of a large house built into the hillside in the middle of nowhere. Glancing around in the few brief moments before they were hustled inside, Tony surveyed his surroundings for any familiarity: Woodfern, amaranth and spike moss, milkweed, Italian thistle and prickly pear cactus dotted the landscape. The distant peaks looked familiar - The Santa Monica mountain range - they were most likely in Laurel Canyon.  
They were roughly ushered in through a side entrance, once again at gunpoint, and down into a cellar where they were all immediately chained up - Tony in one dark, cell-like room - the two brothers in another. Not far off in the dank musty substructure, they could hear the voices of the two men - clearly of Italian descent, with deep New York accents - speaking with a third man, whose voice was too low and indistinct to make out.  
"Ahr you alright Nicky?" Davy whispered.  
"Yes, what about you bubba?"  
"Me arse is a bit sore from that buggah shovin' me down s'hard, n I'm a bit n-nervous, but m'not hurt. Any idea wha's goin on?"  
"Not exactly, but I know this much - the Valducci's are the ones that almost killed Tony before - and wound up shooting Micky instead. Whatever this is it's about payback, and I guarantee you we haven't been brought here for high tea."

  
"Nesmith," Mike answered his cell, "… uh huh … yessir that's ma jeep. WHAT! Where? Ere ya sure? No, I'll come out there, gimme a coupla hours. Thanks detective."  
"Detective?" Micky inquired, concern edging his voice, "What's going on Mike?"  
"Is everything alright?" Peter asked, stepping up beside them.  
"M'not rightly shore just now fellas, that was a detective Crawford from the L.A.P.D - they got a call about what appeared to be a suspicious vehicle, possibly abandoned at LAX - it's our jeep. Both doors were open and there was a suitcase on the ground by the passenger door …"  
"I'm calling Davy!" Micky all but shouted, yanking his cell phone from his pocket.  
"Okay. Pete you try Tony's phone and I'll call Nicky - but we need to head on out to LA, so come on."  
Panicked on the inside the three long-time friends kept their poker faces on, in an effort to keep each other strong. Little did they know that on the inside each of them was a train wreck, with jangled nerves, worried for each other and their three missing mates.

  
Tony lay in his own dank cell, closed off from his boys, fearing for what may be happening to them at that very moment. A dim bulb the only light in the smelly, windowless room, his eyes strained to see any way out or any useful possible weapon: of course there was nothing. To make matters worse, his legs were shackeled and his hands were chained to the wall. He vowed silently that if any harm came to Nicky and Davy, every person responsible would die - their blood on his hands - regardless of the cost to himself. After what felt like hours (and was in reality less than thirty minutes), the distinct click of boot heels on the cellar's stone floor reached his ears, breaking into his thoughts, clearly drawing closer to his tiny prison. Heavy keys jangled, as one was inserted into the lock on the door of his cell. In spite of the two hulking forms in front of him, the harshness of the light immediately pervaded Tony's space, his eyes scrunching shut against the sudden glare. Rough hands seized him by the shoulders as his hands were unchained from the wall, and he was dragged up to stand between the two thugs.  
"Let's go Martinelli, Papi wants to see you," The older of the two spoke.  
The other brother merely laughed, a stupid grin plastered to his face.  
Cautious with his timing and hoping to appear cooperative and defeated, Tony hung his head, moving forward wordlessly as they gave a not-so-gentle pull on his now shackled wrists. Though he kept his head low, his eyes scanned his surroundings for escape routes and weaponry, as well as any sign of his younger counterparts. Attempting to familiarize himself somewhat with the layout he recognized the location immediately from his past, his stealthy mind in full safety mode. Yet deep in the pit of his stomach, a tiny panic had begun: These are the men who nearly killed his amore - his beloved Nicky, and who shot his best friend - both attempts meant to end his own life. He had taken what was theirs and ran, and they didn't take kindly to being made fools of.  
He had to find a way to draw their attention to himself, away from Davy and Nicky. He'd never forgive himself if he let anything happen to them.  
Never.  
Tony was forced through several dingy rooms, finally coming to a halt precisely where he expected to: In Dominic Valducci's interrogation room.  
Forcefully ushered into a hard plastic chair, he sat beneath a bright overhead lamp whose halogen bulb created an intense heat, and a painful brightness that was harsh on his eyes. His hands cuffed behind him to the chair and his ankles shackled to the legs, he waited, stony-faced, for what he knew was soon to come. Moments later, the door opened across the room, a familiar figure walking in from the shadowy hallway. As the well-dressed older man approached him the sweeet smell of his cigar wafted to Tony's delicate nasal passages, giving him no doubt as to the man's identity. Stepping into the edge of the circle of light, Dominic Valducci grabbed Tony by the back of the neck, pulling him forward into an uncomfortable kiss on the forehead.  
"It's been a long long time Antonio … so good to see you again."

  
"Micky … well, he nevah really talked much 'bout alla this. What happened exactly?"  
"I imagine it isn't easy for him to discuss," Nicky mused, "it was a bad time and nearly ended him."  
"Can you - will you - tell me about it Nicky?"  
"Well, to give you the whole picture, I'll have to go back a little ways … back to my days with The Family. Back to some … darker days for Tony and Micky - but Davy, don't hold anything against them - its in the past and they were young and made some stupid choices."  
"No, 'course not. We all do so'ething stupid now 'n again."  
"Yes. As usual with those two, when they do stupid - like everything they do - they did it huge and in grand Tony and Micky style. I guess I was about … sixteen - no, no fifteen - it was still summer. Things weren't going well for me at home, I've told you a bit about that."  
"You mentioned that the family that adopted you did everything they could to .. change you. In what ways?"  
"For starters, they didn't like my accent, I guess it rubbed them wrong or something. They also didn't like my use of British dialect … they beat both of them out of me as soon as the social workers were out of the picture. I learned very fast how to be the All-American Boy-Next-Door, believe me. It was depressing, and when I was actually allowed out of the house alone I would almost always find myself down at the park, feeding the pigeons … we seemed to understand each other."  
"You and the pigeons?"  
"Mmm yes. We both knew a few simple truths about ourselves that we had in common: People didn't mind feeding us a few crumbs here and there and would often watch us out of sheer morbid curiosity, but nobody much liked the looks of us and nobody really wanted us underfoot - lest we should shit on their shoes."  
"Oh Bubba," Davy sympathized, "m'so sorry."  
"It's nothing, my life and who I am was shaped by every event, every detail … it's all good Davy. It's brought me to this point - to you. That alone is worth it."  
Davy smiled at him in the semi-dark, and though he couldn’t quite see it, Nicky knew.  
"Anyhow," Nicky coninued, "it was at the park that I'd met Tony. I'd gone there one evening after a particularly rough go-round with my father, and Tony came over to where I sat and asked if I was alright - apparently he'd been watching me for some time - though I hadn't seen him before."  
  
FLASHBACK::  
"You okay kid? I've seen you looking down before, but you look positively defeated right now. Name is Tony - pleasure to meet you."  
"Nicky Mason … and no, not really. Not that a tot'l stranger wants to 'ear me sob story."  
"You're English, nice. I'm Italian but was born here … been to the home country a few times. Were you born there? And by the way, it isn't a sob story, I did ask after all."  
"Right, right. Yes, I was born in Manchester … haven't been there in .. well, a long time."  
"Well, I'm not going to press you - but if you ever need to talk - or if you're ever in trouble … "

"I don't know what it was exactly, but I felt safe with him, safe enough to confide in him. I sat there on that picnic table and poured out my heart and soul to Tony that night. He listened intently like he truly cared, only interrupting occasionally to ask a question here and there. We've been inseparable ever since."  


In the lobby of the Culver Boulevard station house of the L.A.P.D. Micky paced back and forth nervously as they waited for the Detective to wrap up his phone call. Carl Nelson and Riley Davis had been assigned to the suspicious vehicle call at the airport, and were now conducting, unknown to them, a missing persons case. Nelson, the senior of the two, was a seasoned officer of twenty-one years experience. In his early fifties, the married father and grandfather still boasted a headful of hair - albeit streaked with silver - and a mind as sharp as a tack. Riley Davis, a thirty-four year old rookie detective, was a single brunette learning the ropes from his partner. In spite of a soft spot for the ladies, he was a good judge of character and had a keen eye for details. Both men were expert marksmen, physically fit and mentally alert, making for the best team in their precinct.  
"Mick will ya sed'down," Mike said in exasperation, "your restlessness is makin' me twitch!"  
"Yaa," Peter spoke up, "not to mention you're wearing a rut in the floor mats."  
"I'm sorry guys, I'm just anxious to see the detective - I can't stop worring about Davy and the others!"  
Grabbing him by the arm on his next pass, Mike firmly planted Micky into an orange plastic chair that was bolted to a bar in line with other plastic chairs in various colors. He landed on the seat with an exaggerated 'oomph', turning a scowl onto the Texan as he resigned himself to staying put.  
"Look good buddy, I know yer worried fer Tiny n all, but gettin' yerslf all worked up isn't gonna do much but waste energy. Peter and I - well we're a'fearin for them too, but ya cain't very well fatten the hog if the trough is empty."  
"Plain English Mike - save the Texas euphemisms for when my brain isn't goo."  
"He means," Peter interjected, "that you're no good to help in solving this if you spend all your energy freaking out babe."  
"Very good Cotton," Mike praised.  
Peter beamed.  
"Well I can't help that I--"  
"Mr. Nesmith?"  
"Yessir, that's me," Mike replied, jumping up and rushing forward to greet the older man.  
"I'm detective Nelson and this is my partner, detective Davis," he said while shaking Mike's hand as he gestured between himself and his partner.  
"These are my friends, Peter Tork and Micky Dolenz. Have you got anything figured out on this-"  
"Please, let's move this discussion to a more private area."  
He led the three through a few hallways to a large office and closed the door behind them.  
"Coffee gentlemen? Water, tea?" Detective Davis offered.  
"Coffee would be-"  
"A mistake," Mike interrupted Micky, "three waters, please."  
Micky shot him a pouty glare, folding his arms across his chest, but said nothing. Waters distributed, as well as two coffees for the detectives, and they proceeded to get down to business.  
"What can you tell us about Mr. Martinelli and Mr. Jones?" Nelson asked pointedly.  
"Davy is REALLY sweet and funny, and sometimes-"  
"Mick," Mike interjected with a touch to his exuberant friends arm, "I don't think that's quite what the detective was aakin."  
"Oh … yaa."  
A red tint graced Micky's face as he squirmed in his seat. You had to give the guy a break, he was in love.  
"So, Tiny was spending summer break with Nicky, n Tony was drivin Davy to meet him at the airport. They were going on a surfing trip from there."  
"I'm sorry, who are Tiny and Nicky?"  
"Oh, pardon me," Mike said with a shy grin, "Tiny is a pet name for Davy - Mr. Jones - Nicky, Mr. Mason, is Davy's brother."  
"So Jones and Martinelli were picking Mr. Mason up at LAX? In your jeep?" Detective Nelson piped in.  
"That's right, and we cain't reach a one of em by phone."  
"We found very little in the way of evidence at the scene, but we'd like to show you what we have - if it doesn't belong to any of the purported vic's, it may give us something to go on."  
With a nod from his partner, detective Davis unlocked a drawer in a large filing cabinet, retrieving two small plastic bags which he deposited on the desk. The first bag detective Nelson held up contained a set of keys, with a keyring emblazoned with the Italian flag.  
"Any of you boys recognize these?"  
"Those are Tony's keys!" The three practically sang in unison.  
Nodding, the detective made a note, tagging the bag as such. He hesitated, fumbling with the second bag that was now covered by his hands.  
"Do any of them smoke?" He asked, looking at each of the men seated before him,.''  
"Smoke?" Peter asked, seeking clarification.  
"Tobacco," Nelson replied with a glint of humor in his eyes.  
"Oh, no."  
"Nope!"  
"Nary a one."  
The two detectives exchanged a look, the younger shrugging to his partner.  
"Well, we found this smashed on the ground beside the jeep."  
He held up the second bag for the boys to see, its contents clearly visible.  
Micky gasped, inhaling sharply, as his face paled and took on a sickly green tint. Raising a trembling hand to his mouth, he wavered in his chair, looking like he could pass out at any given moment.  
"Man are you okay?" Peter asked, bringing Micky his water bottle.  
"Mick, what is it? You look like you just saw your own ghost!" Mike added.  
A moment of anxious silence ticked by, the entire room on the edge of it's seat. Micky finally managed to find his tongue, choking out three words::  
"Oh .. my God."  
Then he fainted


	2. Chapter 2

<p>Back in Laurel Canyon, Tony was suffering at the hands of the Don, Dominic Valducci. Venting his longtime anger on the younger man, poor Tony was looking much worse for the wear, bleeding and bruised from the extensive beating from Marco and Sal at the Don's direction. Dominic watched on, no emotion to show on his face, his hardened features set in a grim, stony poker-face: He wouldn't back down from this, but as much as he knew it needed to be done, it pained him. At one time, Tony had been his favorite and in some way, still, he loved him dearly. After fifteen minutes of the brutal assault on his beloved Antonio, he brought the beating to a halt.<br />  
" _ **Enough**_!" <br />  
A single word and a simple raise of his hand and the two younger Valducci's were stood back, leaving Tony panting and disoriented. A splash of cold water in his face from the Don began to bring him back to reality.<br />  
"It breaks my heart Antonio to see you treated so roughly, but you deserved to be punished for your sins against me. It's now settled, with only a few strings left to be tied … or burned."<br />  
Still a bit bleary-eyed, Tony fought to focus once again, turning the man's words over in his head.<br />  
"I was a _boy_ , Papi. I was brought into your beautiful nightmarish world and taught to be ruthless, dilligent and cold in my tasks. I only did what I had to do, to protect a weaker one whom I loved - at _any_ cost - a decision you should understand well." <br />  
"Perhaps. You could have come to me and spoken of your dilemma, I would have-"<br />  
"You would've done **_nothing_**!" Tony said with a venomous edge to his voice, "You were jealous of him, seeing him only as an impediment to my future of doing your dirty work!" <br />  
A sudden sharp crack filled the crisp silence that followed, as Dominic quickly and cleanly backhanded Tony, leaving him with a fresh red print of the Italians thick fingers on his cheek. The younger man blanched, his olive skin paling to leave the mark standing loudly on his face.<br />  
"Business must be conducted, Antonio, for us all to be kept in the comfortable surroundings and life we worked _so_ hard for. You _betrayed_ me, running off with those boys - and _my property_ \- on a simple and pointless whim." <br />  
"Yes," Tony replied snidely, "you taught me well. Nicky needed my help, and I gave it - with mi amichi by my side - and I regret none of it."<br />  
"Mmm," the Don hummed, "not yet. You will, however, as you watch the boy take his punishment as well. Then we will discuss how you will repay your financial debt, and your future within our organization. "<br />  
"Nicky was a lad of fifteen, he had a pure heart and a good life ahead of him - he had no place in your dealings and no part in my schemes - he deserves no retribution!"<br />  
"A matter you might have done well to consider when you stole from me in order to run away with him. He is guilty by association, and will learn why nobody crosses me!"<br />  
Turning to the two thugs, his sons and cohorts, Dominic barked angrily,<br />  
"Take him back to his cell - before I regret my next move with his disrespectful, arrogance!"<br />  
Nodding silently, they unchained Tony, jerking him harshly to his feet.<br />  
"Bring the boy to me when he is settled, it's time he and I reminisce old times."<br />  
"No! _Please_!" Tony shouted, pleading, as he struggled to turn and face the man, "I **beg** of you Papi, please don't hurt my Nicola!" <br />  
"Of course not mi amore, not without your presence."<br />  
"Let's go Martinelli," Sal spat, all but dragging him from the room, "your visit with pop is over."</p>

<p> </p>

<p> "Over a period of time," Nicky continued his story, "I came to spend more and more time with Tony, eventually being introduced to his best friend - a curly headed guy by the name of George … but he preferred to be called Micky. Those two were so close they knew each other inside and out, knew what the other was thinking or trying to say with just a glance - hell they finished each others sentences. At first Micky made me a bit skittish, he was loud and full of energy, always wisecracking and sporting a huge grin."<br />  
At the mental image of his beloved Micky, Davy found himself smiling, in spite of their current predicament.<br />  
"Pretty soon, though, I felt safe with him as well. With my permission, Tony told him about my home life, and Micky cried the first time he saw the affects of it."</p>

<p> FLASHBACK<br />  
 _"This report card is disgusting and shameful Nicholas - you're failing four out of five subjects!"_  
 _"Yes sir, I know. I'm sorry - its just that things are done so differently here - I've asked for extra help but the teachahs ahr always busy. I'll improve sir, even ifmit means doing nothing but studying!"_  
 _"Maybe if you talked like a normal person you'd get more from your teachers you little freak, what did I tell you about your language? Thia is America, we speak plain English here - not that garbled gibberish that falls off your tongue!"_  
 _"I'm sorry sir, I'm really trying. Ive spoke it most of me life … Father please .." Nicky pleaded, watching as the man stepped towards him, removing his thick leather belt._  
 _"Don't you DARE to call me FATHER - You aren't worthy of being called any man's son! Bastard!"_  
 _Backing away, Nicky begged with his eyes for mercy, even as tears sprung from them to dribble down his still youthful, plump cheeks. Shaking his head he dropped to his knees, his hands folded in a silent prayer to be left alone. The universe, however, never favored the young Brit, and he let out a squeak as he was yanked up harshly by his thick, wavy hair._  
 _The brutal assault, more of a beating than a whipping, lasted more than twenty minutes, with a whimpering Nicky left curled in the fetal position at the bottom of the stairs. Bleeding, badly bruised and broken in his soul, he prayed for whatever power ran the universe to just end him quietly. Shortly, his adoptive family left the house for dinner on the town, his 'father' leaing a swift kick to his ribcage as he stepped over him on his way to the door. Gathering all of his strength and will, Nicky managed to gain his feet. As soon as he was certain it was safe enouh, he left the house in search of Tony and whatever first-aid he could receive._ </p>

<p> "Oh God Nicky," Davy said with utter sadness in his voice, "I knew they treated you badly, but I'd no idea it was so 'orrible!"<br />  
"Again Davy, it was all part and parcel of the man I am today. It's they who are the person I will never become. Don't let yourself worry over it little brother, I am truly healed of it and with you in my life, happier than I could ever have imagined being. At any rate, I made my way to the park, and as usual found Tony and Micky in their typical spot. I guess I was pretty banged up, because the minute they saw me they ran to me, looking panicked. I managed to tell them briefly what happened, and then I passed out in Tony's arms."<br />  
"Oh Nicky!"<br />  
"That was the day I met Don Valducci - his first name being Dominic - Don is his status, as head of The Family. I didn't know it then, but," Nicky lowered his voice to a whisper, "they're a crime syndicate Davy … almost like the Mafia."<br />  
Nicky paused for a moment, letting this fact sink in to Davy's mind, giving him a firm understanding of the graviy of the situation they were in .. the mindset of the people they were dealing with.<br />  
"When I came to, I was on a gurney of sorts in Valducci's house. The room was in a basement that was finished, with paneled walls, a dropped ceiling and carpeted floors. Tony was hovering over me like a nervous mother and Micky was glued to his side, teary-eyed and wringing his hands. Tony had done what he could, but I needed stitches and had broken ribs that needed set and wrapped. Valducci called in his personal physician to handle the worst of it, and they'd given me morphine for the pain … I was beyond loopy, basically stoned out of my mind," he chuckled.<br />  
"I'd have loved to have seen you like th-"<br />  
Davy's words were cut short as heavy footsteps echoed across the stone floor leading to their cell. Sal and Marco appeared a moment later, shoving a set of keys in the barred door of their tiny prison.</p>

<p> </p>

<p>Micky sat shakily sipping water, the other four men in the meager office surrounding him yet allowing him room to breathe. He was still covered in a light sweat, his skin pale, his usually almond eyes large and round. He seemed to be in another universe. Mike did the only thing he knew to snap him out of his mental stupor.<br />  
"Uhh .. Mick? What do we need to know about this - to help Tiny n them?"<br />  
The mention of Davy, his little one, brought him back to the surface with a jolt.<br />  
"Davy! He has Davy …"<br />  
"Yes," Mike replied hopefully, "Davy, Tony and Nicky. Talk to me Mick, what's up with the-"<br />  
"It's a Gurkha Black Dragon," Micky interjected, "he's the only one I've ever known to smoke them … only one I know who could afford them …" he trailed off.<br />  
"You're talking about the cigar we found by the jeep," Detective Nelson spoke up, "the one in the evidence bag?"<br />  
"Yes," Micky answered, fully on task now, "him and sometimes his sons .. his muscle."<br />  
"Who is it Mr. Dolenz? Who smokes the expensive cigars?"<br />  
"Expensive? Doesn't even begin to cover it, those cigars _start_ at five grand, _**EACH**_!" Micky meandered, still a little shaken up. <br />  
"Wow!" Peter said quietly.<br />  
Mike whistled long and low.<br />  
"Mr. Dolenz - Micky - " Detective Nelson asked pleadingly, "who is he?"<br />  
Taking a deep breath and meeting the eyes of each of them once, Micky turned to the lead detective and spoke as calmly as he could.<br />  
"The Don Dominic Valducci."</p>

<p> </p>

<p>Tony sat on the cold stone floor, but was sweating heavily between his pain and panic - panic being the greater of the two. Fearing for his young friend, the boy he had raised for five long years, his heart was racing along with his mind: So many images of what Valducci could do to Nicky. His thoughts, however, were brutally interrupted by a scuffle and sharp cries from the other cell.<br />  
" **NO**!" Davy shouted, yanking at the chains that secured his ankles, "LEAVE'M ALONE YOU BIG GOONS - LET 'IM _GO_!' <br />  
Sal and Marco were struggling with the bucking bronco that was the older of the two brothers, as he fought against their efforts to drag him through the open bars, away from his pleading younger sibling. Had he known that he wasntheir target he'd have gone peacefully, but his frightened mind convinced him they were removing him to gain access to Davy.<br />  
"Lemme _GO_ ," He shouted, you won't hurt him!"<br />  
"Get a grip Nicholas," Marco snarled at him, "Papi wants to see you - and you _**WILL**_ come along!" <br />  
At this revelation, Nicky relaxed in their hold as much as he could - all things considered. With a quick glance at Davy, he dropped his head in submission and allowed them to lead him away, locking the cell door behind them. </p>

<p> Mike and Peter sat in obvious confusion, having no idea whatsoever who Dominic Valducci was. Clearly he was trouble, but in what way and how much was a mystery to them. The two detectives on the other hand, gasped, staring wide-eyed and mouths agape at the mention of the man who had for years evaded law enforcement: A man who had brutalized, murdered and trafficked both drugs and people .. ruling his domain with an iron hand, his orders followed to the T with a simple snap of his fingers. Snapping out of his abstraction, detective Nelson spoke up<br />  
"Damn. This is huge .. we're going to need some assistance gentlemen, Valducci is a little out of our league and resources! "<br />  
"You're talking about bringing in the bureau?" Davis questioned, a slight quiver in his voice.<br />  
"What in turnation is so scary about this guy that it has y'all acting like hens in a hurricane?" Mike asked, his Texas standing out like a beacon in a thunderstorm.<br />  
"Remember me mentioning the day I took a bullet? The one meant for Tony or Nicky?" Micky said, now bearing a sickly green hue.<br />  
"Shore 'nuff," Mike nodded.<br />  
Peter's eyes widened as he latched onto Mikes arm.<br />  
"It was his orders to kill them that I got caught up in that day, getting me hit in the chest above my collar bone."<br />  
"The man," Nelson added gravely, "is a mafia kingpin."</p>

<p>Nicky found himself strapped into the same chair that Tony so recently vacated, though he had no idea his friend and mentor had had such a horrific experience., had been in this same compromising position. He fought hard to hide his fear, struggling with all of his will to contain the trembling his treacherous body was producing of its own whim. The two thugs stood by, several feet away, chatting quietly among themselves out of his earshot.<br />  
With an eerie squeal a door across the room slowly opened, Nicky's breath hitching in his throat as he swiveled his head in the direction of the nerve-wracking sound. Dominic Valducci stepped into his vision, walking tall and proudly smug in his direction. He bent down so that he was face to face with Nicky, so close that the man's breath - which reeked of strong wine and cigar smoke - permeated the younger mans very pores.<br />  
"Hello Sunshine," he spoke, in his gravelly Italian accent, "it's been a long time."<br />  
"Not long enough for me," Nicky said, his chin stuck out defiantly.<br />  
"Still have a smart mouth I see. Perhaps when we're finished with you, respect will roll off of your tongue.<br />  
"Not. Bloody. Likely."<br />  
The action was so swift and sudden - nearly over before it happened - that Nicky heard the crack of knuckles against flesh before he felt the stinging backhand across his left cheek. Momentarily disoriented from his head swinging to the side and back, he wobbled in his seat, seeing stars.<br />  
"You will speak to me with the respect I deserve or you will watch your friends suffer at the hands of Marco and Sally here. Do you understand?"<br />  
At the thought of Davy, or even Tony, being mistreated or manhandled, Nicky swallowed his pride, nodding briefly.<br />  
"I can't hear you Nicholas."<br />  
"Yes sir, I understand," Nicky replied, the words bitter in his mouth.<br />  
"Very good," the Don smiled, taking a seat at the steel table beside the nervous youth, "now, tell me about your young friend."</p>


	3. Chapter 3

  Davy sat alone in the semi-dark, dank room, crying, not knowing what was happening to his brother. For all he knew, Nicky was dead. He hadn't seen nor heard anything from Tony, and with Nicky dragged away by the two goons nearly an hour ago, he felt alone, small and terrified. Shivering from fear, he huddled against the wall, sobbing into his arms and praying for a miracle.   
  In his own cell, Tony was toying with his shackles, hoping against hope to find a weak spot in the old metal - anything he could pick at or twist around to perhaps give him an advantage the next time Marco and Sal came for him: and there would be a next time. Meanwhile, Nicky was dealing with Dominic.

  
Micky, Mike and Peter were astonished at how quickly the feds responded to detective Nelson's call about Valducci and his involvement in the apparent abduction of the three young men. Twenty two minutes exactly after they'd hung up the phone, two federal agents were sitting in the small conference room (the office being too small and crowded) with the boys and the two detectives.   
  "Gentlemen," Detective Nelson began, "may I introduce Federal Agents Mira Flowers and Steven Cortain - this Mr. Dolenz, Nesmith and Tork respectively."  
Agent Cortain appeared to be mid-thirties, average build, with salt-and-pepper hair syled in a fashionable swag. His face still held a youthful smoothness but his eyes told the story of a man who has seen way too many truths. Late night investigations and surviving on caffeine, adrenaline and the pursuit of justice were beginning to wear on his handsome features.  
Mira Flowers was a stark contrast to her partner: A twenty-something blond, buxom and gorgeous, she would have appeared more at home on a movie set or wrapped around a pole in a gentlemen's club. Not the she gave off the aura of sluttiness, she was truly beautiful - but there was an underlying sex appeal and something that screamed **SORORITY GIRL** bubbling just beneath the surface.  
The five exchanged handshakes and pleasantries, quickly getting down to business. Agent Cortain speaking first.  
  "I'm not going to beat around the bush about this, Dominic Valducci and his underlings are dangerous, vindictive and highly organized. I understand one of you has past experience or involvement with The Family?"  
  "That would be me."  
  "Forgive me, I'm not good with brief introductions," Cortain continued, "you are?"  
  "Micky, Dolenz. I had the misfortune of being young and stupid enough to … run errands? … for Valducci, when I was a teenager. He had given orders at one point to kill my best friend a kid he had taken under his wing, and I kinda got in the way," he chuckled nervously.   
  "You were shot?" Agent Flowers asked, her professionally-shaped eyebrows raising slightly.  
  "Yes, in the chest. Thought I was a goner, Valducci's thugs don't generally miss. Though I did kinda shove Tonio out of the way …"  
  "Heroic. He must've been some special friend."  
  "The three of us we're thick," Micky nodded, looking wistful, "either of them would've done the same for me."  
The sultry female agent produced a sexy pout, cocking her head sideways and rubbing Micky's shoulder with the tip of a single manicured finger: he shivered, much to her delight, though not for the reason she had suspected. Over her shoulder, Mike threw Micky a knowing smirk.  
  "Yes," Cortain said, retirevedpping the topic at hand with a huff, eyeballing his flirty partner pointedly, "well, anything you can tell us will be of help Micky - his habits, connections, family, hideouts … anything at all."  
  "Okay," Micky began, "well for starters .."

  
  "W-why do you want to know?" Nicky stuttered out.  
  "Is he a friend? A lover?" Dominic continued, unphased by the timorous lad's question.  
  "He's my brother. Leave him out of this, he has had nothing to do with any of our dealings."  
  "Your adoptive brother Nicholas?"  
  "What do you want Valducci?" Nicky questioned with a sneer, the earlier slap having slipped his mind.  
Without so much as even a subtle change in the expression on his face and in the blink of an eye Valducci had Nicky by the hair, his head shoved at an odd, painful angle backwards and to the right.  
  "You seem to forget who you're dealing with il mio piccolo passero spaventato!"  
Nicky shivered inwardly at the memory of the once-loving pet name. Stroking his thick fingers across the boys head, Dominic smoothed back Nicky's luscious locks, the slight curls springing back from his touch immediately.   
  "You've grown to be so handsome Nicola … yet still so slight. Almost .. _feminine_."  
The lascivious tone of the mans voice raised bile into Nicky's throat, chills engulfing him at the sudden prospect of his disconcerting position.   
  "He's quite lovely, isn't he boys," Valducci said with a twisted leer, " touchable and _tasty_ , eh?"  
He stuck out his pointed tongue, very like a venomous snake, licking a stripe up Nicky's cheek. Trapped in the man's iron grip, Nicky squeezed his eyes shut, his stomach churning with loathing and disgust.  
  "Touchable .. a-huh-huh," Marco chuckled sickly.  
  "Fuckable," Sal added smugly.  
Nicky's inner fear turned to sheer panic as he began bucking in the chair with all of his might, fighting the restraints, his head thrashing against Dominics hold.  
"No **NO**! Don't _**TOUCH**_ me!"  
Valducci nodded to Marco who stepped up instantly, landing a hard right hook to Nicky's chin. Blood sprayed from the boy's lower lip, which was sufficiently split, as the chair tilted back and crashed to the floor. Nicky's head hit the stone, hard, expelling a gush of air from his lungs and squeaking out a small whimper, he passed out cold.  
  "Take him to the empty cell," Valducci told his sons, "the one with the padded cot. Notify me when he wakes up."

Davy sat curled into himself, only sniffles remaining from his earlier crying jag. It had been hours now since Nicky had been taken away, and he was sad, frightened and terribly alone. His emotional needs aside, his physical needs were approaching an emergency level and if someone didn't show up soon, he'd likely brave the possible abuse he'd face and yell for help: He'd drank three cokes and a large coffee on the drive to LA - his bladder was ready to bust. Not aware of the circumstances, his stomach cheerily reminded him that it was well past lunch time - past dinner in fact. Poking a finger into his toned middle, he grumbled a snarly 'shut-up', still debating calling for his jailors he opted to remain off the radar: life, however, had other plans.  
Sharp footfall graced his ears, his hearing instinctively sharpened due to his captivity, and he tensed, fearing the worst. His bladder spoke up, reminding him of his immediate needs. The closer the steps came the more Davy trembled, not knowing if he too would be dragged from the room for whatever purpose, disappearing as his brother had.  
Would he be beaten? Tortured? KILLED?  
Suddenly a figure appeared before the cell door, looming large in the bright light behind it - Davy could see a silhouette but no facial features - hear keys jingling near the lock. Pressing himself tight to the wall the Manchester lad wished with all he had that he could simply melt into it. The door swung open with a slight squeal, masking the squeak that escaped from Davy's throat unwillingly. As the man stepped into the room, the aroma of expensive cologne wafted teasingly under Davy's nostrils, mingling with cinnamon, fine brandy and sweet cigars. As he came closer, Davy got a good look at Dominic Valducci: Dressed to the nines in a black Gaetano Savini Brioni-Vanquish suit - the cost running just shy of fifty-thousand dollars - with a matching shirt, crisply pressed and whiter than virgin snow. He wore two-thousand dollar Amedeo Testoni loafers on his feet, whose shine was so perfect it was nearly blinding. His stunning image elicited but one word: Impeccable. Looking the little Englishman up and down, the first thought that entered Valducci's mind: Innocent. His very next determination was that this young man, indeed, was Nicky's biological brother.  
  "Good evening young man, allow me to introduce myself - I am Don Dominic Valducci - and you are?"  
  "… about to wet me pants," Davy said unabashedly, "may I please use the loo, sir?"

  
  "You've been to the hideouts!" Cortain said in amazement, "do you remember where any of them may be?"   
  "Which city?" Micky asked with a casual shrug.  
  "Any - all."  
  "Well .. there's Philly, Brooklyn, South Chicago, two here and a couple-"  
  "Where here?" Mira interrupted.   
  "Um .. one in the foothills of Mount Shasta in the northern Cascades. The other is in Laurel Canyon …"  
Micky trailed off, his mouth dropping open, eyes immediately finding those of his Texan counterpart - Laurel Canyon was a mere thirty-five minutes from LAX by the highway. Clearly thinking the same thing, the two federal agents were staring at each other in much the same manner.   
  "I know it's been several years," Cortain began, "but do you think you could remember where in the canyon - or how to get to it?"  
  "I .. I can try," Micky said, momentarily dropping his head, Understand agent, it isnt the best time or proudest moments of my life. I've seen some things - particularly at the canyon house - that I wouldn't wish on anybody. I've tried to block it out, location and all."  
  "Hey Mick?" Peter spoke up, "Remember when we went driving through the canyon looking for a place to rent, before we got the place on the beach?"  
  "Sure I do Pete, what's your point babe?"  
  "The last place we were supposed to see, we never went to. The closer we got the more you started looking … well sea sick. Kinda green and like you'd had one too many hits of bad weed. When I asked if you were okay, you asked if we could turn around cuz we were close to your old stomping grounds. So we did."  
  "Excellent sleuthing Cotton!" Mike beamed at his lover. Peter smiled sweetly.  
  "I remember that!" Micky exclaimed, "But .. I don't remember where it was."  
A collective sigh of we're-back-to-square-one echoed throughout the room, as everyone had hinged their hopes on this moment.  
  "That's okay Mick," Peter soothed, "I do."

  
Despite his best efforts, Tony had no luck in loosening or breaking his restraints. Tired, cold, hungry and fearing for the safety of his boys he sat, feeling dejected, against the rapidly cooling brick wall of his cell. Still in pain from the cruel beating - a punishment in the eyes of the Sr. Valducci - his body was betraying him. Thoughts of giving himself over to the don in exchange for the boys freedom having fled his mind the moment they entered, as he couldn’t be sure that he would keep his word. Certainly not willing to help, he'd likely release the two young men - if at all - in the middle of the desert near the Laguna Coast, a situation neither was skilled enough to survive.   
       They'd never make it back to civilization alive.  
He considered, too, begging Valducci to punish only him, allowing him to suffer for his, Micky's and Nick'y debt. He'd suffer anything to protect them all, Nicky in particular, and was ready to get on his knees and submit himself to the man he had once admired. Anything at this point was reasonable in his mind if it meant no harm would come to his precious Nicola. With these thoughts fresh in his mind and his body exhausted, he drifted into an uncomfortable sleep filled with dreams of tortured boys and a murderous, unrelenting Valducci, the man he had once called 'Papi'.

  
Nicky awoke with a groan, his head pounding, his swollen lip protruding obnoxiously and throbbing in pain. He attempted to focus on his surroundings, as the soft mat of the cot felt oddly different from the stone floor of his cell. Looking around he vaguely made out the features of the room: A dropped ceiling, beige painted walls with cherry-wood wainscoting and a heavy wooden door with a cherry finish .. he was not in he and Davy's cell.  
     Davy.  
The sudden and disturbing thought of his little brother alone, possibly in the hands of the Valducci brothers, brought him fully awake. Throwing off the light coverlet he sat up quickly and stood to his feet - too quickly in fact - as a wave of dizziness hit him, nausea overtaking his empty stomach. He stumbled backwards, the room spinning briefly, and toppled back onto the tiny bed. Dropping his head between his knees Nicky took several deep breaths through his nose, in an attempt to move oxygen to his foggy brain as quickly as safely possible. A few moments later, as the vertigo and vibrations inside his skull eased off, he stood up once more.  
Walking carefully to the door he tried the knob, which as he expected was locked from the other side. Balling up his fist he was about to pound on the door, when just to it's left on the wall he saw a square panel with three buttons: _an intercom_. The buttons were labeled simply, and after scanning them briefly, he pressed the one marked 'call'. An annoying beep sounded, giving way to his headache returning quickly. He waited for a response from who or wherever the beep was dispatched to. When none came, he pressed it again, wincing at the tone as it drilled through his brain once more.  
"Hang on to ya panties kid!" Came a gruff reply through a bit of static, an abrupt click indicating that whoever had spoken was no longer on the line.  
Nicky sat on the side of the cot, waiting for thing one or thing two - which he had privately nicknamed the Valducci brothers - to arrive at his room. Obviously taking a strong stance against them was not an intelligent choice, but it made his insides scream to be submissive and respectful to dumb and dumber (another set of 'pet names'). Still, if he wanted to make it back to Davy unscathed - or find him as such - he'd have to make nice. A shuffling sound out in the corridor told him his kidnappers had made their way to him, and it was time to play the role of the obedient captive.

  
With evening drawing quickly into twilight, Micky, Mike and Peter found themselves lodged in a couple of expensive hotel suites at the LAX Marriott, courtesy of the CBI. The four-star hotel boasted such amenities as an indoor pool, gym, spa, five conferece rooms, free satellite TV, telephone, transportation services and free breakfast and dinner buffets with the upwards of three-hundred dollar per night accommodations. Two restaurants of the finest quality dining were located on the grounds, one being an American steakhouse , the other catering to Hispanic and Tex-Mex flavors. They'd have been just as well off with one room, as each boasted two king beds, a fully functional kitchen, an office, a large sitting room and luxury en-suite bathroom. Micky accepted, however, as being without his little one he really didn't want to experience a night of Mike and Peter in action … he couldn’t deal with Peter's moaning, and the moment when Mike's pleasure culminated in a loud "YEEHAA" as they wrapped things up.  
  It had been decided that with daylight disappearing fleetingly they would all get a fresh start in the morning, taking an evening meal and a good nights sleep to put seven clearer heads and fourteen fresh eyes into the mix. Hopefully between them, somebody could think clearly enough to locate the Laurel Canyon house. Mike was discussing this very thing as the three band mates sat around a table at JW's Steakhouse. He thought he was talking to Peter and Micky, but Micky was gazing off into the distance, his mind on a short young man with chocolate-brown eyes.  
  " **Micky**! You haven't paid attention to a word I've said!" Mike noted, exasperation in his tone.  
Looking up sheepishly, Micky was at least contrite enough to produce a bright pink blush.   
  "Aww, I'm sorry man. I can't stop thinking about Davy - all of them of course - but he's, ya know …   
  "Your'n," Mike finished for him, not sounding quite as agitated.   
  "Right," Micky nodded, "I mean we're in these fabulous rooms and cozy beds for the night, eating at a steak place. I dunno if he's warm or if he's had any food .. or if he's hurt …"  
His eyes glossing over with unshed tears, Micky swallowed hard, lowering his head to stare at the linen tablecloth in front of him.   
  "Man Mick, you know Tiny gets in some sorta pre-dicament pert near ev'er other week, and somehow he manages to come out without much more'n a skinned knee or a knock on the head. He's a tough little shit. Tony'll look after 'im alright. Meantime, we all hafta eat and sleep, otherwise we cain't keep our own strength up anuff to hunt for 'em all."  
  "I know, but Mike," he squalled, the dam finally breaking, "you don't _know_ the Valduccis - these people are ruthless - they hurt without caring and kill people like its a normal everyday thing! Dominic Valducci is pissed at me, Tony and Nicky .." he paused, a heartwrenching sob breaking through his words, "and it's all _**my** fault_!"


	4. Chapter 4

  
Davy followed Dominic Valducci throuh a narrow dimly-lit hallway to the nearest bathroom, squeezing his (thankfully) muscular thighs all the way. It took a few minutes for him to relieve himself (and what a relief!) and wash his hands, which were shackeled in front of him. Stepping back into the corridor, he looked up to the man who held his fate in his hands.  
"Back we go small one," he said to the young Brit, gesturing in the direction from which they'd come.   
His head down, Davy turned back, dragging his feet toward the cold, empty cell. His expectation to be shackeled to the wall again materialized, but as he waited for his captor to turn and exit, he was shocked when Valducci retrieved a chair from the hallway and sat in front of him. Momentarily, they merely stared at each other.   
"You're a bit different from your brother," Dominic began, "younger, sharper - more .. aware."  
Davy considered his words for a moment, aware thet this was a man who had once ordered Tony and Nicky shot and killed. Cautious in his assumptions, he wasn't about to be tricked by the man's kindness (he had REALLY needed the loo) and his slick, conniving parlance.   
"I'm aware of quite a lot, sir, but I'm by no means sharpah than Nicky, nor am I any more … aware. He's smahrt, funny, loving, gracious, humble and kind, and I couldn't possibly evah measure up to him. I'll nevah fill his shoes."  
"Perhaps not. You could, however, fill his position - in our organization. We're always looking to recruit adventurous young men to-"  
"Save your breath sir," Davy interrupted, holding up a hand, "I know about your 'organization' and what you do within it. I'm not the least bit interested."  
The don mulled his words over, a cross expression on his handsome face. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then spoke again.  
"Granted, we do some things that are, shall we say - offensive? To certain people, to law enforcement? I however believe that we provide goods and services that another group of individuals savor. Why is it permissible for one set of people to decide for others what is acceptable and what is not?"  
"When people get 'urt, or become addicted to the drugs yer peddlin' - then it become necess'ry to govern yer … activities. Drugs ahr dangerous and destroy peoples lives. Prostitution is 'urtful and degrading to the women being used, and loan shahrkin' is what costs folks knees, fingahs n sometimes their lives. I don't know what all yer into, but I do know yer notta nice guy - and you tried to KILL the people I care about!" Davy shouted, his anger finally boiling to the surface.   
"Hold your tongue boy!" Valducci shouted, rising to his feet to tower over the younger man, "I will not tolerate your disrespect and insolence!"  
"Where's Nicky?" Davy yelled back, "I wanna know wha' you've done with 'im! Tony too fer tha' mattah!"  
"You'll find some respect for me or you'll get your brother back in a bag!" The Don snarled, his face purple with rage.   
Grabbing the chair he flung it against the wall with all of his might, mangling the metal into a bent and twisted wreck. Turning back to Davy he spoke again, his face and voice laced with venom and ice water.  
"When I am calm enough not to break your skinny little neck, I'll send for you - and when I do you will show me respect or face a fate worse than the hunk of metal laying destroyed beside you!."  
Leaving Davy quivering, his mouth agape, he turned abruptly and stepped out of the cell, locking the door behind him.

 

After a huge meal of char-broiled ribeyes, baked potatoes, salad and chocolate cake, the boys parted way to their separate suites. Micky was still in the dumps, promising he'd be fine and that he'd explain everything the next day - claiming stress and fatigue as his reasons for clamming up. Once behind the locked door of their room, Peter saw the look in Mike's eyes: the one that said he needed to unwind in an agressive, sexual way. Quickly freshening up, Mike returned to laze on the bed nearest the window, while Peter took his turn, intentionally slowly, in the shower. When he finally returned to the bedroom, Peter found Mike just as he expected to - fully nude on the edge of the bed, his erect member standing tall in his hand. Gracefully and with a sultry charm in his every step Peter moved to stand before his lover, his eyes lowered, hands clasped before him, silently submitting himself to Mike's will.  
"Love you babe," Mike crooned softly, stroking the golden skin of Peter's leanly muscled abdomen, "need you," he all but whispered.  
With a gentle but strong tug of his arm, Peter dropped effortlessly to his knees between Mike's thighs. His body knowing just what to do, he traced his calloused fingertips lightly up and down the inside of them, sending tingles of gooseflesh along Mikes skin. Peter then licked his lips, leaning forward as his hands moved north to encircle his lover's hips. Mike leaned back then, propping himself on his elbows to relax himself and watch the tantalizing show.  
Through hooded eyes Peter glanced seductively up at him as his tongue snaked out to lap at the head of Mike's dick, licking up the pre-come gathered from the long-building erotic moment. Mike emitted a throaty groan as the moist heat of Peter's sinful mouth fully engulfed his cock, sliding skillfully down so that the blond's nose was snug against the Texan's dark pubes. With his breath held, watching the scene between his legs was maddening yet enthralling Mike, as Peter sucked his pulsing need with incredible and natural skill. His silken lips tight around Mike's shaft, he hollowed his cheeks to create a firm suction, while his tongue explored the underside of the meaty head. Long, strong fingers found their way to Peter's silky golden mane, and with a life and mind of their own began thrusting his head on and off of Mike's throbbing cock, bucking his hips forward fucking rouhly into his lover's mouth.  
After a few minutes of this, Mike was quickly coming undone. Forcing himself away from the glorious heat that surrounded his dick, and tapping gently on Peter's shoulder he motioned for him to stand. Taking his hand he led him to lay on the bed - hands and knees - ass in the air. Having come unprepared they had no lube, so he presented Peter two fingers to slather with saliva which he quickly sucked into his mouth. Prepping him quickly but thoroughly, Mike poised himself behind his eager lover, pressing the head of his cock against his wet, dark-pink hole. He wasn't cruel or hurtful, but neither did he procrastinate as he pushed his entire length into his lovers waiting backside.   
Peter moaned deeply as Mike immediately and skillfully slid over the amatory nub that produced instant rapture with every thrust and snap of his hips. His movement inside his pliant lover's body was swift and proficient, as he fucked into him with a ferocity intended to drive them both mad. Latching his hands onto Peter's hips Mike held him firm, as he pleasurably impaled him in a frenzied blur. Peter reached his high quickly, coming hard, spraying his load onto the quilt beneath him. Mike, however, was nowhere near finished: He continued to pound mercilessly into the tight chasm that was bringing him such indescribable gratification. Being the masochistic that he was, Peter suffered through the delightful torture of the ongoing orgasm that ripped through his body in waves, his toes curled tightly and tears pouring from his eyes he wailed out his pleas to his lover.   
"Michael, YES! FUCK Michael - it hurts so fuckin' good! UNGHH - don't stop!"  
Peter's outcry of his physical state and the quivering of his body beneath Mike's fingers sent the Texan into overdrive, finding his own apex as he spurted hot white ribbons of his seed into the clenching ass he was buried in. Repeatedly plunging in his steely rod as his own body spasmed in a euphoric rush, Mike drove them both to the edge of human endurance, forcing them both to come until his cramping hips stuttered to a stop. He collapsed onto his lover's sweaty body, his lungs screaming for air as they both panted and gasped.  
Slowly they regained their composure, their racing hearts slowing to a steady normal, pace. In the silence of the room there was a serenity beyond anything describable, such as their lovemaking always culminated in. Mike rolled to the side, and smiled at his lover, now in a deep and blissful satiated slumber. Standing to shaky legs the lanky Texan wobbled over to the other bed drawing back the covers. Stepping back to the soiled bed, he gently lifted the sleeping man and carried him to lie on the fresh, clean linen of the other king bed, covering him snugly and kissing his forehead.   
"I love you Cotton," he whispered softly, "Sweet dreams babe."

 

Shortly after ten PM, an anguished Micky found himself wandering down to the lobby to the hotel bar. His intentions were honestly innocent and simple: to have a heady nightcap to calm his nerves so he could fall asleep. Without Davy by his side, wrapped around him like a koala, he couldn't find his way to Morpheus. He headed to a quiet corner table as the barstools were all occupied, his back to the wall in the shadows: he wanted to be left alone anyway, to wallow in his misery. Momentarily, a waiter in a white shirt, black slacks, matching vest and bowtie approached the table.  
"Good evening sir, what may I get for you?"  
With everything being on a tab covered by the feds, Micky decided to go all out.   
"I'd like a glass of your finest brandy please, and have the bartender warm it up."  
"Right away sir," the waiter nodded briefly, and walked away to place his order at the bar.  
His emotions running high, Micky ran a jittery hand across his forehead, his thoughts straying in so many directions he could barely keep track of them. He was so distracted in fact that he didnt notice the waiter return with his drink, and startled, he nearly leapt sideways out of his chair as the man spoke.  
"Here you are sir. Our finest brandy - Gran Duque De Alba - warmed to a perfect drinking temperature."  
Still clutching his chest over his pounding heart, Micky nodded, snatching the glass from the napkin and draining it in one large gulp. The waiter subtly raised an eyebrow, surprised at the atypical guzzling of such a superb drink, but said nothing.  
"Another please," Micky said quietly.  
Nodding, the man left, quickly returning with a clean glass and fresh napkin. This time Micky managed to sip the drink as opposed to downing it as a parched man would cold water.  
Over the next hour, despite his initial intentions, Micky slugged back six glasses of the smooth cognac, eventually switching to a stout barrel-aged whiskey - finally asking the waiter to simply leave the bottle. Eyeing him carefully, the server deemed him sober enough to handle it, complying with his request, leaving a nearly-full fifth of Rock Hill Farms single barrel whiskey. By two AM, the curly-headed Italian was beyond hammered, unable to walk and barely capable of speech. Off in his own little corner, nobody really noticed, nor did anyone attempt to intervene.   
Wanting to check on Micky, Mike had gone to the adjacent room to see how he was faring, only to discover him missing, the beds untouched. An inkling as to where his disparaging friend may have disappeared to crept into his mind, and he hurried downstairs to the lounge. When he found him at two-thirty, Micky was beyond drunk, being ignored by the oblivious bartender and blubbering miserably in the corner about it being 'his fault'.  
"Hey partner," Mike drawled in an effort to gain Micky's attention, "lets get you upstairs to bed .. mebbe in the shower first."  
"I nebershoodatoldimmayadeeya," Micky stammered out, "s'wyeesgoteminiscluches n'isallmyfallmike!"  
"Babe yore not makin any sense," Mike said, his eyebrows furrowing together, "lemme see if ah can gitcha some coffee Mick."  
He turned to go to the bar, but before he could take a step, Micky lurched forward and onto his feet, his head snapping back suddenly as he began to projectile vomit every drop of liquor he'd had onto the table. The horrid gurgling wretching sound continued, as his stomach spasmed again and more of the brown liquid spewed forth, splattering onto the floor and Mike's denim jeans. A few of the waitstaff had gathered round, some attempting to clean up the continuing mess, others turning a sickly green at the sight and smell before them. As the violent heaving finally came to an end, Mike watched helplessly as Micky's eyes spun in their sockets before rolling back in his head, his legs seeming to dissolve into bonelessness as he crumpled to the floor.   
Dropping to his knees, Mike was by his side in a flash, calling Micky's name and patting his cheeks. For the next few minutes, things seemed to happen in a blur - someone handed him an ice pack and a cool wet rag was shoved into his hands. A woman offered her purse to serve as a pillow and suggestions were coming at Mike from every direction.  
"Turn him on his side!"  
"No, don't move him at all!"  
"Keep slapping him, he's just drunk."  
"Lightweight couldn't hold his drinks," someone mumbled close by.  
If Mike could discern wo had said it, they have a blood nose by God.  
Moments later he was pushed politely aside by the in-house doctor, called by the bartender to see to their ailing guest. After a terse examination he made a scary determination. Standing to his feet he turned to the bartender and shouted over the gathering crowd:  
"Call an ambulance now - this man has severe alcohol poisoning!"

  
Mike sat beside a sleepy Peter in the emergency unit of Marina Del Rey hospital, waiting to hear any available news on their currently incoherent friend. It had been four hours since they arrived, Mike seeing Micky off in the ambulance before rushing upstairs to wake Peter and inform him of the situation. So far, no one had told them anything, other than the fact that Micky was unconscious. The two sat huddled together, feeling as if their world was falling apart. At eight-fifteen, Mikes cell phone rang in his pocket.  
"Nesmith?"  
"Hello, Mike? This is agent Cortain, were you boys still meeting us this morning to drive out to Laurel Canyon?"  
"Hullo agent. To be perfectly honest, I dunno. We're at Marina Del Rey hospital with Micky … he - well - he went on a bit of a bender last night. He doesn't really drink, so he wound up with alcohol poisoning. He's unconscious."  
"Damn son, I'm sorry to hear that. You boys stay up there with him and we'll see if we can't get some kind of air-to-ground radar or infrared to scan the area in the meantime. Please, keep us informed of any changes."  
"Will do agent Cortain, thanks."

 

Once again Nicky found himself seated beside his one-time mentor, chained securely to a chair, the man's two idiot sons waiting nearby.  
"So," Dominic said, "I've had the chance to spend some quality time with your little brother. Interesting young man, not easily intimidated."  
"If you've harmed him-"  
"I have not, and you'll do well to keep your temper."  
Sighing deeply as he struggled to contain his fury, Nicky bowed his head, knowing he needed to handle himself properly, keep his cool.  
"I plead your understanding, sir, as I don't mean to be surly or contentious with you. It's just that I'm rather protective of him."  
"An upstanding quality in an older brother, one that makes me proud of you. You will not show your temper to me in doing so Nicholas, I am not beyond reason."  
"Then why? Why steal us and bring us here? Why the locked cells and chains?"  
"I had the distinct impression that you all would have declined a proper invitation, so I resorted to alternative methods."  
"I still dont understand why - after all of these years and with all of your money - why you would need to seek revenge or restitution almost five years later!"  
"I am a man who has a reputation that must be upheld Nicholas, you know this. If I am dealt with squarely I deal squarely in return. If I am disrespected or fucked over, I must exact justice and remuneration."  
"We were kids mio nonno - solo bambini - trying to make sense of life, trying to get away from horrible and dangerous things. Is it such a crime against one who claimed to love us like family to take a little to gain a life? I will gladly repay you that which we took with a handsome interest, if only you could find it in your heart to give us freedom, safety and forgiveness."  
"I've never stopped loving you Nicholas. But not unlike a spoiled child, even those you love dearly - if not especially they - must be shown the error of their ways."  
"Then … punish me. My brother wasn't even in my life then for the love of God - I thought he was dead!"  
"In due time my dear boy," Valducci smiled evilly, "In the meantime, I have questions Nicholas. Questions to which I will have answers - either from Antonio - who so far has refused - you or your brother … one way or another, by choice or by force. How do you choose for it to go, hmm?"  
"No disrespect intended, but my brother knows nothing, kindly leave him out of this. What is it you want to know?"

 

Tony awoke in knots, his body aching everywhere from sitting on the hard, cold stone, as well as from the merciless beating he'd been administered the day before. Slightly disoriented and extremely hungry, he found himself in the uncomfortable position of being close to begging Valducci for a meal a trip to and the bathroom. His thoughts drifted to Davy and Nicky - were they alright? Were they hungry? Hurt? …. Alive? His heart broke at his last thought, not knowing one way or the other, and he would never survive it if they perished here - the event would end him. His morbid reverie was interrupted though, when his ears perked up to the sound of approaching steps outside his cell, the click of a key in the lock on his door. Salvador shuffled in, bearing a plate of food, placing it beside Tony on the floor.   
"If you gotta use da shitta, nows ya only chance Martinelli," he grumbled out impatiently, a smug expression on his face.  
Nodding his head, Tony pushed his bare feet forward for Sal to undo his shackles. Instead, however, the thug merely unhitched them from the ring in the floor that they were tethered to, leaving Tony to hobble instead of walking. Sally wasn't the brightest crayon in the box, but he knew better than to give Tony an opportunity to run - or kick. The man was definitely dangerous with his feet. They made their was along the corridor, dimly lit as was the rest of the cavernous dungeon they were being kept in, to the only bathroom in the subterranean level of the Laurel Canyon fortress. As they passed by one of the cells, Tony walking in front so Sal could keep an eye on him, Tony saw something that caught his attention. Careful not to be obvious, he used his peripheral vision to glance deeper into the barred room - and Oh! It was Davy, laying on his side on the floor in what Tony had hoped was a deep slumber. With no opportunity to check on him, he continued forward the thirty or so feet ahead to the lavitory. When they passed by the dank room on the return trip, much to Tony's relief, Davy was faing the other way - his back to them now - indicating he was very much alive, as dead men don't roll over.  
Back in his own cold, smelly room, Tony was again manacled to the metal loop in the floor. As Sally shut and locked the door, Tony picked up the plate beside him, gingerly tasting it's contents and sniffing for the pungent odor of any poisons. It seemed harmless enough, and as hunger won out over reason he dove into the cold pasta and stale bread with abandon. About halfway through the meager meal, he noticed a sealed bottle of water beside him as well. Cracking open the plastic lid he drank deeply, thinking clearly enough to save some for later. He may not get anything else today after all.  
As he set aside his empty plate he wondered why Nicky wasn't with his brother, wondering bleakly as to his whereabouts. In his heart he desperately hoped they had simply separated the two young men, rather than to face the possibility that Nicky was in the grimy clutches of Dominic Valducci. The boy had a temper after all, and when his dander was up his mouth had a tendency to run before his brain could tell it not to. With Valducci, that usually ended in a squall, with a bruised and bloody captive sleeping off a concussion. He could only pray for the best, hoping that Nicky would remember how violent and vindictive the man could be. Still worn out from the events of the last thirty-odd hours, he leaned back as comfortably as possible and closed his eyes. Without a sharp, well-rested mind, he was useless to try and match wits with the Valduccis, and that moment would certainly come - possibly even today.

 

  
Mike and Peter dozed leaning against one another on a sofa in the waiting room of the emergency department. On top of the stressors of the situation Peter had slept very little that night and Mike not at all. Around nine AM they both succumbed to the sandman, still waiting to hear word on the condition of their indisposed pal. Almost sick themselves with worry, neither had been allowed to visit with Micky, as multiple tests and procedures were being performed to look deeper into his malady - though nobody had explained to them why. On hearing what had happened to his dear friend, Peter sobbed into Mike's shoulder, his face all but buried in the man's neck. Cooing soft, reassuring words and rubbing his back in soft circles, Mike had him reduced to a few sniffles in a matter of minutes.   
In spite of crying babies, noisy children and faceless voices paging equally faceless personell, they were both now snoring softly, a bit of drool dried on their chins. A man in blue scrubs approached them, clearing his throat as he came nearer, to gently raise their attention.   
"Mr. Tork? Mr. Nesmith?" He queried.  
Shaking off the cobwebs of sleep, they both raised their eyes to him: A handsome man, clean shaven, with rapidly-graying raven hair stood with his hands clasped in front of him. He had a fatherly look about him, with gentle eyes that were care-worn around the edges and a kind face that seemed to have seen too many tragedies. He was tall with a firm build, not exactly muscular but by no means flabby. Broad at the shoulders, which would probably look perfect with a grandchild perched on top, he was the epitome of the old-school family man. When he spoke again, his smooth, reasonably-deep voice matched his appearance perfectly.   
"I'm sorry for disturbing your rest," he apologized quickly, "but I know you've been eager for word on your friend."  
Still half-asleep, Mike ran a hand over his face, attempting to get a little blood flow to his soppy brain. Nodding briefly, he muttered a sticky-mouthed yes.  
"Would you boys come with me? There's quite a bit I need to tell you, and considering the nature of it I'd prefer to do it in private."  
"Yessir," Mike said firmly, now much more alert, "I don't s'pose we can stop for a cuppa coffee along the way?"  
"No need," the man chuckled lightly, "there's a fresh, full pot sitting in my office. Follow me."

 

Nicky was a bit dumbfounded at the things Dominic wanted to know. Concerned as to why and not being given an answer, he flatly refused to tell him a thing.   
This was a big mistake.  
Calling out to his sons, the Sr. Valducci snapped out orders that chilled Nicky to his very core.  
"Take Nicholas back to his original cell - and bring me the other boy, now!"  
As his restraints were being removed, Nicky babbled out a string of pleas to the don, begging him to leave Davy be. His efforts were wasted though, as his words fell on deaf ears. He struggled ineffectively against the two lumberjack-sized idiots, trying in vain to speak to Dominic. The Valducci brothers simply seized him by an arm each, effortlessly lifting him and carting him towards his tiny prison.  
He continued to kick and fuss as they unlocked the steel-barred door, roughly dropping him to the unforgiving stone floor. Startled by the scene, panic struck Davy, his heart pounding in his chest he pressed impossibly further against the wall, cowering in fear. Now shackled tightly to the wall, Nicky pleaded with the men, his words striking terror in his younger brother's heart.  
"Marco, Sally - I'm begging you - please .. please don't take him to papi! Per favore, è il mio unico sangue vivente, ti prego - non farlo per lui - è un innocente! Per favore, fratelli miei, mostrategli un po 'di pietà!"  
While Davy didn't understand the Italian Nicky spoke so fluently, he did realize two things: Nicky only spoke the language when he didn't want to upset or frighten Davy with his words .. and by the tone of his inflection, Davy knew that Nicky was desperate for something. Before he could fathom anything out, Marco replied to Nicky.  
"Perdonami, fratello mio, una volta, ma i giorni di gentilezza furtiva per te sono passati da un pezzo. Mio padre è stato arrabbiato troppo a lungo e gli auguro questa vendetta. Offri addio al tuo fratellino di sangue."  
"No - Marco NO!" Nicky cried.  
He watched helplessly as Davy was unchained from the wall, his manacles left on his wrists - hands in front of him - and ruthlessly yanked to his feet. Shoved harshly forward he was forced from the room, crying over Nicky's shouts that grew increasingly distant:  
"DAVY - DAVY I'M SORRY! I LOVE YOU DAVY .. IM SO FUCKING SORRY …."


	5. Chapter 5

Sitting in comfortable chairs sipping on very good, hot coffee, Mike sat waiting patiently while the doctor made himself a cup. Peter, quiet as usual, sat beside his partner clasping his hand.  
"First of all," the kindly man began, taking a seat behind an impressive oak desk, "my name is Dr. Alan Caine and its a pleasure to meet you both - though I wish the circumstances were different."  
"I'm Michael, Nesmith," Mike offered, extending his hand, "this here is my boyfriend Peter Tork. Pleaure's our's."  
"Alright then, about Mr. Dolenz. Obviously you're aware that he'd gone on a bit of a drinking spree last night, and I'm assuming that this is somewhat unusual for him."  
"Yes it is," Mike answered, "he's a pretty straight-laced fella when it comes to gettin too many cows into the pasture. Had some pretty rough thengs on his mind I reckon."  
"Mmm, unfortunately one tends to lead to the other. He was brought in and treated, as I believe you're aware, for severe alcohol poisoning - which we've addressed and have solved for the most part - although he is out of the danger of death, we've had to intubate him and he is currently not breathing on his own. It's odd, because he was fine to the extent that he was fully functional aside from being unconscious, then his lungs just stopped functioning of their own accord. There seems to be an underlying situation that we can't quite put a finger on, tell me, does he have any other health concerns that you're aware of? "  
"Nossir, why Micky's as healthy as a Texas Thoroughbred tall-steppin in a parade!"  
Looking a might baffled, the good doctor turned to Peter, hoping for an English translation.  
"Micky is as healthy as a horse," Peter grinned.  
"I see," Dr. Caine smiled, "the problem we're trying to solve here boys is that your friend has slipped into a comatose state. While that is not out of the question with alcohol poisoning, with all of his test results he shouldn't be in any sort of mental or cranial insufficiency. It's almost as if he doesn't _want_ to .. come back, it doesn't make any sense."  
"It might make more sense than ya think - tell me sumthin doc, can a person be so grieved or can one feeling a tremendous guilt, whuther it's legit or not, put a body in that position?"  
"Absolutely, people have been known to simply shut off their will to live if they've, say, lost a life partner or close relative, or feel responsible for a tragedy or dire circumstance. It's almost a self-preserving mechanism of sorts if you will, as contraditing as that may sound. It's more common than you may think."  
This time it was Mike who turned to Peter, seeking a breakdown of what the man had attempted to tell him.  
"Micky blaming himself for the thing with Davy and the others might be why he doesn't wanna wake up .. come back to reality," Peter explained in common-speak. Mike nodded his comprehension.  
"Is there anything y'all can do to snap him out of it?" Mike asked, his face a picture of unmasked anguish, "hell is there anything _WE_ can do?"  
Dr. Caine appeared to be in deep thought for a moment, considering his answer carefully before responding to Mike's question. The obvious desperation in the young Texan's voice had jerked hard on his heart strings, and he wanted to offer any help he could without misleading the two young men.  
"The honest truth Mike, is that medically speaking there's very little we can do. As a physician I can keep him fed, hydrated and breathing, but the part of him that isn't allowing him to come back to the surface seems more emotional than even mental or physical. As his friends, and people that he knows on a personal, more intimate level, your best bet is to talk to him - not unlike one with amnesia - and carefully convince him that it's safe to come back. Reason with him that his guilt or loss can be overcome and that there are many things to continue to go on for. Would I be prying or overstepping my place to ask what it is that's weighing him down?"  
"To be honest doc," Mike sighed, "we don't know the extent of it ourselves. I kin try n explain to ya what we _do_ know … how much tahm have ya got?"

 

Frightened out of his mind, Davy turned the best he could in the formidable grip of the two huge men dragging him toward Dominic's interrogation room. Opening his mouth to respond to his brother's shouts he took a deep breath, only to be silenced by a large, grungy hand being clamped tightly over his lips. In spite of his best efforts, his wiry, muscled body bucking like an unbroken steed, Davy couldn’t break the solid grasp they had on him. Moving faster, the Valducci brothers hustled him into the intimidating room, strapping him securely in the designated chair.  
Tears cascaded down Davy's cheeks as he glanced around the room at it's contents. At first appearing stark aside from the table, lamp and two chairs, he came to realize with a nauseating sinking feeling that this was not so: the other items the room contained were much more daunting, as he came to recognize them as torture devices, intended to inflict massive amounts of pain. He felt as if he might vomit. He shook violently where he sat, feeling dizzy and somewhat faint, his breath coming in short, rapid sips that bordered on hyperventilation. He peered over at the two goons babysitting him, who were currently having a casual conversation across the room - as if he weren't sitting there, chained to a chair, awaiting whatever gruesome activites he was about to be subjected to. A glint of light flickered in his peripheral vision along with the faint squeak of metal hinges desperately in need of oiling. Davy turned his head in time to see Dominic Valducci step into the room, motioning his two strong-arms to attention. Nearing the Manc at a measured pace, each antagonizing step serving its intended purpose, Valducci's approach brought Davy almost to the point of shouting out pleas for mercy and promises of complete cooperation.  
_Almost_.  
Pressing his lips tightly together in an effort to keep his impetuous mouth from getting him in any deeper, Davy stared straight ahead as Dominic sat in the chair to his left, a chair that appeared much more comfortable than the hard metal folding chair he himself was attached to. A deafening silence ensued that was almost more unnerving than had the Don been shouting at the boy, giving him over to the urge to unclamp his lips, give the man a pointed glare and shout ' ** _WHAT_**?!' - but he restrained himself in the name of self-preservation: he happened to like the way his body parts were presently arranged. Finally, the uncomfortable quiet was broken as Valducci spoke up.  
"So we meet again. Hopefully with more .. pleasant results?"  
Davy nodded silently, still too afraid to open his mouth.  
"You have no reason to fear me small one, unless you show me disrespect. Do not be afraid to speak with me."  
"Yes sir," Davy said, barely above a whisper.  
"I have told you my name, but to refresh your memory, I am Dominic Valducci. What is your name young man?"  
"D-david. I don't n-know wha' it is you want from me … I d-don't know anythin' 'bout all o' this, really, so I cahn't exactly tell you much."  
"Ahh, but David, I believe you can, and it would be much to your own detriment for you to refuse. I am a reasonable man, but I can be quite cross when denied what I ask for. I have very simple questions for you, of which I'm sure you have the answers to. Revealing the truth will save you, your brother and Antonio much suffering. An agreeable outcome for everyone, eh?"  
"I … I'll hear out your questions Mr. Valducci, and if I agree that they're reasonable for you to know the ahnswers to, I'll give them. I don't wanna see anybody 'urt."  
"That's a good lad. Very wise."  
The middle-aged Italian placed a small tape-recorder on the metal table, inserting a cassette and pressing the record buttons.  
"Now, young one. Begin by telling me precisely where Antonio, Nicky and Micky reside."

 

Dr. Caine sat with sadness in his eyes, his hands steepled beneath his chin, having just finished hearing Mike and Peter's horrific story. Admittedly, he found it to seem impossible at some points to be truthful - Mafia Dons and kidnapped boys, shady dealings by clueless teenagers - federal agents and baffled local police? It all sounded like something out of the dime novels he'd read as a boy. Deep in his heart though, he believed that the two young men before him were not inclined to telling tales. Their emotions and tears came across as truly genuine, and they both sounded absolutely sincere.  
"I wish I had even the slightest idea what to say to all of this," the doctor said, scruffling his chin, "but I've never had an experience even close to something like this. The way you described Micky and his feelings of responsibility for the circumstances would most certainly put him in the state he is in at the moment."  
"We seem to get into some sumthin-er-other pert near ever' other week doc, but its ne'er involed s'many of us. So, with whatcha know now, any more suggestions for us with Mick?"  
"Nothing beyond what I've already recommended to you Mike, but I do think you shouldn't waste any more time getting to it. Micky has been moved to the CCU," he said, rising from his chair, "simply because of the ventilator he's on, but I'll see to it that you have free access to him twenty-four seven. Also, I'll make arrangements for you boys to have a complimentary account in the cafeteria .. we can't have any more of your little family getting hurt or taken ill. Follow me boys, I'll take you to your friend."

As they stepped off the elevator onto the third floor, Dr. Caine went directly to the nurse's station to inquire about the location of Micky's room, explaining briefly the situation and that the boy's were to be given unrestricted acces to their friend. Waiting for him to return to them, Peter slapped a hand over Mike's chest, hard, gaining Mike's immediate attention.  
"Cotton _what th-"_  
His words dropped off the tip of his tongue, however, as he followed Peter's gaze and began to choke on air: Walking towards them from the CCU doors, oblivious to their presence, was none other than agent Mira Flowers. Distracted by the cell phone glued to her hand she strolled past them to the elevator, never even glancing at the two men who stood puzzling over her presence there. When the elevator's bell dinged to notify that the transport had arrived, she simply stepped inside and disappeared behind the sliding doors. Mike and Peter gaped at each other with an are-you-thinking-what-I'm-thinking look in their eyes, which they quickly masked as the good doctor stepped up beside them.  
"Ready boys? He's in room three-nineteen, I'll show you where it is."  
As they approached the double doors he paused, showing them both the four-digit code they needed to enter on the keypad to open the security lock. The heavy doors swung open slowly and once inside, Dr. Caine gave them each a lanyard that would allow them to easily enter the CCU without a hassle. Following him a short way down the hall, they came to a stop in front of the fifth room on the left. Beyond the closed door they could hear the click-click-click-woosh of the ventilator as well as beeps and dings from various other medical equipment, most likely attached to Micky. Neither of them sure they were quite prepared to go in, they latched on to each other for strength and support.  
"I'll leave you two to be with him," Dr. Caine said softly, "here's my card - I wrote my private number on the back - don't hesitate, no matter the time, if you need anything at all."  
He smiled gently, then turned and walked away.

 

"No, I'm not trying to disrespect you _or_ your authority!" Davy said emphatically, "but the things yer ahsking me ahr bettah ahnswered by those yer ahskin' _about_! I've no place nor any right tellin' anyone else's business. **Please** , try n undahstand my _position_ Mr. Valducci!"  
"I understand very clearly young David. I also beg you to forgive me, and understand the position you've left me in."  
Dominic turned to his sons, who stood by, amused by the scene that played out in front of them, knowing exactly what was coming next and excited for the coming moments.  
"Take David to the medical wing and strap him securely to the gurney in the operating theater. I'll be there shortly with Dr. Heinrich."  
" _ **What**_? No! _Please_ , don' _do_ this Mr. -- Im begging you -- I 'aven't _done_ anythin' to deser-"  
      _ **CRACK**_!  
A sharp blow landed hard enough across Davy's tender, rosy cheek to stun him into silence, his head spinning inside as he was roughly hauled into the arms of Marco Valducci and carried from the room.  
When Davy's head began to clear from the slap he received, he found himself gagged and firmly strapped to an operating table. Bright lights overhead momentarily blinded him and he closed his eyes, redirecting them away from the harsh beam. As his sight readjusted, he was mortified by the equipment surrounding him: A silver tray was lined with surgical tools, shiny and imposing - several clamps of various sizes, tourniquets, a small saw, tweezers, hoses, several needles and a scalpel that looked sharp enough to skin the toughest hide. Standing beside the tray was an IV pole with a large bag of clear liquid hanging from one of the hooks. A cabinet on the wall held more of these bags in various sizes, as well as dozens of bottles of _who_ only knew _what_.  
  What in God's name were they going to do? Carve him open? Take out his organs? Would he be awake or receive some anesthesia?  
       Would he even come out of this alive?  
Davy was about to plead for his life with the two brothers - willing to offer the small fortune he had coming to him upon his twenty-fifth birthday - when a door opened and Dominic Valducci entered the room, another man at his side. They spoke briefly as they approached him, and Davy had a chance to appraise the man he assumed to be Dr. Heinrich.  
He was a short man with a heavy German accent, who spoke quickly in a quiet yet slightly shrill voice. He had dark wiry hair only on the sides and back of his head, leaving him with a shiny bald pate. He wore small rectangular spectacles, low on the bridge of his nose, that gave him the appearance of an underfed bird with an oversized beak - quite a peculiar sight to be honest. A thick, lopsided mustache that was badly trimmed - shorter on one side than the other - graced his upper lip, which seemed curled into a permanent sneer. His face appeared tired, the skin pasty with long, deep bags under his steel-grey eyes - eyes that held no sign of a soul. His ears were too large for his balloon-shaped head, with pointed lobes and tops that curved outward like small, floppy wings. There was a half-inch long scar just right of the center of his protruding, square chin.  
       He looked straight-up evil.  
The two men now stood beside the gurney, Davy looking up at them with pleading in his eyes, his fear so great he was unable to speak. Marco and Sal came to stand opposite them and the four slipped on pairs of green surgical gloves. Dominic nodded to the doctor.  
"So, vee vill use duh sodium pentathol, yes?" Dr. Heinrich said in his thick patois.  
"No," Valducci replied, "scopolamine."  
The doctor's thin eyebrows shot up, distress written clearly on his face.  
" _ **Nein**_! Die Nebenwirkungen sind schrecklich - Sie erinnern sich gut daran, dass das letzte Mal, als der Patient starb, Dominic!"  
"Trivialities," the Don replied, "side effects be damned, it works the best. Tu, was dir gesagt wurde oder finde dich als nächstes auf dieser Bahre Heinrich!"  
The doctor, obviously intimidated by Valducci's words, walked silently to the cabinet retrieving several items. He came to Davy, cleaning the back of his left hand with an alcohol swab, for whatever reason refusing to meet the young man's teary eyes. Opening a plastic packet he pulled out a PICC line to insert in the promint vein he found on the boys hand. Fastening a tourniquet around his forearm, Heinrich plunged the thin IV needle into Davy, eliciting a small whimper from the frightened young Brit. Attaching the long thin hose of the IV bag to the port, the doctor set the line to a slow yet steady drip, securing the needle in place with a few strips of medical tape.  
Retrieving a syringe from the silver tray, he took a bottle of liquid he'd gotten from the cupboard. Turning it upside down he plunged the needle into the rubber top, withdrawing enough of the 'medication' to fill the large syringe. Tuning one last time to Dominic, he held up the syringe with a questioning look in his eyes. Dominic merely stared at him with a visage of mild impatience. Dr. Heinrich sighed heavily, and turning to the terrified boy beside him inserted the needled into the unused port on the PICC line.  
" _Verzeih mir, Junge_ ," he said softly to Davy, and pressed the plunger of the syringe.

 

The sight of Micky laying in the hospital bed, pale, disheveled and hooked to so many machines and monitors was barely tolerable to the two friends as they entered the room. For several moments they stood just inside the door, clinging to each other, as tears coursed down both of their cheeks … yes, the _Texan_ even cried. Finally growing the courage to step to Micky's bedside, Mike cleared his throat, the first to speak.  
"Hey there good buddy," he squeaked out in the most encouraging voice he could muster up, "Peter n I came to visit. We were wond'rin if you could mebbe wake up soon, we need you babe."  
Tapping Mike on the shoulder, Peter leaned in and whispered to his boyfriend.  
"Michael, theres a lipstick print on his cheekbone … you don't suppose that flirty female agent ..?"  
" _ **Damn**_! I cain't think of anybody else t'wood be in here _kissin_ ' on a feller who was unconscious Cotton," he whispered back, "I'll be mentioning this to agent Cortain!"  
Turning their attention back to Micky, Peter offered a few motivational words to him as well.  
"Mick, I know it probably feels a lot safer in there, wherever you are inside of your head. But you don't have to be afraid or feel bad, you need to realize that whatever you think is your fault is fixable, but only if you wake up and help us find them. We'll be right beside you babe, every step of the way."  
"Please Mick," Mike pleaded, " Tiny and them - they're countin' on you to get them back - Davy needs you Micky, more'n ever before."  
The lifeless man in the bed didn't stir. He didn't blink, twitch, sniffle or wrinkle an eyebrow. There was no indication that their words even registered with him in any way. Not that they expected Micky to sit straight up, yank out the tubes and hoses and ask for his boots, but they were hoping for something - _anything_ to show that he was still in there. Saddened, Peter began to cry.  
"Aww Peter, don't cry," Mike soothed, "it's not gonna happen right off the bat babe, you gotta know that."  
"I do," Peter sniffled, "it's just hard ya know, seeing him like this. That and knowing that he is honestly our last hope for finding Davy, Tony and Nicky - cuz Michael - I don't really think I remember where we were as well as I let on. If Micky doesn't come back to us, we're gonna lose everybody."  
Holding his lover close, Mike squeezed him in a tight, reassuring hug. Rubbing his back gently, he felt before he heard the blond's stomach rumble with hunger.  
"Listen, why don't we head on down to the cafeteria n see what we kin rustle up, tain't neither of us had anything to eat yet today, huh?"  
Nodding his assent, Peter snuffled up the last of his sniffles. They turned, arms around each other, and headed out the door. Had they waited only a few seconds more, they may have seen the tear slipping casually down Micky's cheek, to land quietly on his pillow.

 

As the drug hit Davy's bloodstream a burning sensation in his vein was the first thing that he felt. Wide-eyed he waited, almost in a panic, to see what else would happen to him. Seconds later, the youth went still, becoming glassy-eyed, pliant and complacent. His face took on a flat robot-like quality, and his entire body was flaccid. Reaching up to the back of his head, Dominic unfastened the gag and removed it from Davy's mouth: he didn't make a sound. Though sufficient to keep him oxygenated, his breathing was shallow, and were it not for his eyes occasionally blinking, he would have appeared catatonic.  
"You have about fifteen minutes before zee side effects begin," Dr. Heinrich stated bluntly and stepped aside.  
"Tell me your brother's name David," Valducci said, testing out the effectiveness of the drug.  
"Nicholas Mason," Davy replied in a flattened tone.  
"What is the address where he resides?"  
"Thirteen thirty-eight North Beachwood, Malibu."  
"Very good David. Do he and Antonio live together?"  
"Yes, when Nicky's not at school."  
"Micky, does he reside with them as well?"  
"Micky lives with me."  
"And why is that?"  
"He's my boyfriend."  
"Where do the two of you live?  
Dominic waited a moment, but Davy didn't respond. He looked at Dr. Heinrich who did a brief exam, shining a penlight in the boy's eyes and chexking his reflexes.  
"Try again Dominic."  
"David," Valducci began again, "where do you and Mic-"  
His question was cut off, as a dry gurgling sound emitted from Davy's throat, his body stiffening, his face taking on an odd grimace, eyes closed. Just as his body began to jerk and spasm, Dr. Heinrich spoke up, already taking action.  
" _He is **seizing**_! Quvickly - he needs oxygen - Beeil dich, du _dummer Arsch!"_  
Releasing the straps that held Davy down, the doctor quickly turned him on his side, placing a tongue-depresser into his mouth, lest he should swallow his tongue. Dragging a large oxygen tank behind him, Dominic handed the mask to Heinrich, unwinding the hose and turning the valve to release the precious life-saving gas.  
"All zee vay up!" Heinrich shouted.  
Dominic complied immediately. He stepped back but not out of the room, in case he was needed further. His actions, not to be confused with sympathy or concern, were for self-serving purposes - he needed the boy to use as leverage with Nicky and Tony. He watched passively as Heinrich worked on Davy, fighting to save his life at this point - he sighed as the doctor injected antidotes and adrenaline into the PICC line to subvert the boys impending death.  
Heinrich worked like a madman, dashing back and forth from the gurney to the cupboard grabbing different bottles and injecting them into Davy's IV. Checking his vital signs every few minutes to see if he were making any headway. The little hair he had was sticking out in every direction, much like one who had poked a finger into a live socket. Sweat trickled down his forehead and he had shed his lab coat moments before, his body overheating from the activity and duress. Finally, after ten excruciatingly long minutes, the doctor drew back from Davy, removing his stethoscope and breathing a sigh of utter relief. He collapsed onto a nearby stool and openly sobbed into his hands.  
"I take it the crisis has passed?" Valducci asked, no emotion or concern behind the question.  
"He vill live," Heinrich replied, "but he vill need _constant_ observation for the next several days, jaa? I vill stay vith him and see to his needs."  
"Notify me if his situation changes, for better or worse," the heartless Don stated flatly, walking towards the exit, "und erinnere dich an Heinrich, dein Schweigen und deine Loyalität werden belohnt werden."  
With this final statement, he stepped from the room, his boys following closely behind him.

 

Mike and Peter found themselves in the cafeteria of dreams, with the most mouthwatering offerings of the highest quailty. True to his word, Dr. Caine had set them up to eat for free, unlimited meals and in any quantities for the duration of their stay. Succulent fruits of every kind were laid out in a most appealing array, amid a mixture of yogurts, granola, nuts, seeds and both plain and flavored oatmeal. There were pancakes, waffles, French toast, eggs to order and every beakfast meat imaginable. Since it was nearing noon, there were lunch foods available as well: Fresh vegetables with hummus and ranch dips, crostini on toast points, avocado toast, club sandwiches, salmon croquettes, stuffed tomatoes and a full service salad bar with the works. A variety of juices and soft drinks as well as white and chocolate milk were in a serving station filled with ice, and a cart nearby held carafes full of coffee and hot tea. They also boasted an à la carte menu you could order from if you had more specific tastes. With their plates fully loaded and drinks in hand, the two young men found a table and sat down to eat - when who should sidle up to them but agent Steve Cortain.  
"Hello boys, how is Micky doing?"  
"Agent Cortain," Mike said in surprise through a mouthful of food, "what're you doin up here?"  
"Mind if I sit?" The agent asked, sitting without waiting for a reply, "I was in the area and figured I'd stop by and check on our boy."  
"Seems to be a popular concept," Peter mumbled, shoving a spoonful of cucumber soup into his mouth.  
"I'm sorry?" Cortain asked, glancing between them, appearing perplexed.  
Dropping his fork with a loud clank, Mike gave the agent a point-blank no-bullshit stare, slightly squinting his eyes.  
"Tell me something agent, how-"  
"Please, we're in this together for the long haul, let's do away with the formalities - call me Steve, _please_."  
Sucking his lips in mild aggravation at having been interrupted, Mike gave a terse nod.  
"Alright, Steve, how long have you known or worked with agent Flowers? How well would you say you know her?"  
Seeming a bit nervous about the question, agent Cortain - who was normally calm and smooth in his mannerisms - began to fidget, picking at his fingers.  
"Not long to be truthful. I've known her around six months, we've been partners for just over three. She transferred in from another division, took our standard ninety-day training course - common practice as protocol varies from bureau to bureau - and was assigned to me. Is umm .. is there a problem?"  
A sarcastic chuckle snuck its way up from Peter's throat, and while it was rather obvious what it was, he did his best to disguise it as a cough. Cortain and Mike both looked at him, Cortain with a bit of chagrin, Mike with a proud smile.  
"Weelll," Mike stretched out the word, "it t'weren't a secret at the station yesterday that you give her an eyeballin' and a verbal dressin down for bein a bit … _forward_ , with Micky."  
"Touchy-feely is more like it," Peter mumbled, his nose pointing towards his cherry pie.  
"That too," Mike said with a sigh."  
"I'm sorry if it offended anyone, she tends to be too flirtatious. I'll bring it up to her."  
"Fraid there's more," Mike said, his head tilted down a bit, eyes on Cortain.  
This time it was Steve who sighed.  
"Oh God, what has she done _this_ time?"  
"So there's been a 'last time'?"  
The agent glanced up, nodding sheepishly.  
"Well, we went to see Micky just before we came to eat. Peter here pointed out that he had a lip print on his left cheekbone. Whats's ironic is that just as we'd stepped off the elevator, agent Flowers come walking out of the CCU, where he's bedded down at. She didn't see us."  
"Please," the agent asked, hands in his hair, "tell me he has a girlfriend that could have left it behind?"  
"Erm … would you pass out if'n I told you that Davy - Mr. Jones - is his .. ' _girlfriend_ '?"  
"Oh boy. I'm terribly sorry boys, this isn't the first time Mira has gone too far with smeone we're involved with on a case. She's embarrassed the unit more than once and has been warned … she'll be in deep hock with the chief this time. It'll be handled today, I promise you."


	6. Chapter 6

  Tony awoke with a start to the sound of his cell door whining open, and as his eyes adjusted to the lighting, he realized that Dominic was standing in front of him. Casually strolling a few steps into the room, the mobster leaned against the wall, examining his fingernails nonchalantly. His backside all but numb from sitting on the inflexible concrete, Tony spoke first, asking the Don for a small concession

  "May I stand? I can't feel my behind anymore."

  "You may. I'll see what I can do to get you a bedroll, since your stay appears to have been extended."

Tony didn't take the bait on this very loaded statement, one he knew well was designed to goad him into a spat. Instead, he stood on wobbly legs, rubbing some much needed blood-flow into his poor, aching bum. Once most of the pins and needles were gone, he leaned against the opposite wall from Valducci, his shackled ankles not allowing much else, and folded his strong arms across his equally muscled chest.

  "Not sure why you came to visit," Tony said with a note of acrimony in his voice, "but I'm sure you're here to disturb me in some way. So I'll open the door for you - how are my boys? Can I please see them, _sir_?"

The last word of his request felt distasteful and sour on Tony's tongue, but he knew well how this game had to be played and showed the respect Valducci insisted he was entitled to. Initially, Dominic lost the smug look he wore as Tony's words rolled over him, but he recovered in record time, replacing it with a smirk that said he had the most lovely vile things in store for his one-time second-in-command.

  "I'll consider it. Although it's likely to be a few days before you can see David, as he'll need time to recover. Nicholas is, for the moment, merely bruised and I suppose anxious. Though he's been crying since late last night. Probably wondering what has become of his brother … he has been gone for some time after all."

  "WHAT-" Tony began, pausing to regroup, gaining control of his temper - something that would only trigger Dominic to withdraw any privileges and deny any visitation, "What has become of them," he re-phrased himself, "please."

The sinister laugh the echoed around the room ate at Tony, enflaming his rage and digging sharp emotional talons into his already aching heart.

  "Ah my Antonio, you still have too much of a soft heart beating in your chest for your own good," the Don shook his head, "Nicholas was a bit too disrespectful, and it earned him a few jabs to the face - nothing to serious mind you - I'm certain his bruises will be healed in a matter of days and he will not be scarred. David on the other hand, such a pity. A bit too much scopolamine sent him into seizures last night, but he will recover fully. He is currently suffering through the unfortunate side-effects, miseries you yourself have witnessed frequently enough. Heinrich is monitoring him closely, tending to his needs. Quite the helpful, chatty lad that one, spoke rather freely the moment the drug burned into his veins."

Squeezing his eyes shut, his teeth clamped firmly over his tongue, Tony fought with all of his will to refrain from spouting out obscenities at the foul bastard grinning at him, smugly pleased with himself that he was torturing a twenty-year-old boy. Inhaling deeply, Tony calmed himself enough to speak.

  "You're still working with that Nazi sympathizer - the Einstein wanna-be?!" Tony spat, incredulous.

  "He is loyal, keeps his mouth shut and serves my purposes well."

  "He's sick in the head, how he ever earned a medical degree is beyond me!"

  "He can be a bit of an eccentric, yes. However we have digressed from the topic at hand .. Ah yes, I was telling you that I'm about to pay a sporting visit to Nicholas. I am thoroughly looking forward to spending time with him, I do enjoy our .. _little chats._ "

  "Oh no, per favore don Valducci - ti prego - non angustiare il mio ragazzo! Supplico tutto ciò che è buono e gentile dentro di te, non ha mai partecipato agli eventi per i quali sei arrabbiato. Per favore, prego la tua misericordia!"

  "Antonio, _be **silent**_! I will do as I see fit and nothing less, your cries for my generosity and benevolence toward him are an annoyance and a waste of breath! Have you forgotten the true nature of how I am so soon?"

  "No papi, forgive me," Tony said, his head bowed in respect and regret, "I simply fear for an innocent young man who is destined to be punished for _my_ actions. I love him like family and have brought this on him by my selfish desire to be his protector. I'm sorry," he finished, his voice breaking slightly.

  "For that, my dear Antonio, you are forgiven."

  "May I please see Nicky, sir?" Dominic looked thoughtful for a moment, seemingly mulling over an answer in his mind.

  "In due time, yes," he nodded, "I need to speak with him myself first, then if he behaves himself, perhaps this afternoon I'll allow a brief visit." The two men stood examining one another - assessing each other really - for several silent minutes. With a twisted gleam in his eyes, Dominic broke the mutual pause.

  "You know, it's a pity I didn't manage to collar Micky as well," Dominic said as he moved toward the door, "he could have fucked David while you watch my boys have their way with young Nicholas - a just punishment indeed. I suppose David will have to observe the rape alongside of you. Should be quite an evening to remember, don't you think?"

He watched for a split-second as Tony fish-mouthed, gaping at the audacious cruelty of his statement. Then he turned, laughing heartily, and closed the door behind him.

 

  Davy lay on the gurney, covered in a clean, light sheet, Dr. Heinrich dozing in the chair beside him. He'd had a very bad night, and was nowhere near beyond the anguish of the grisly side-effects caused by the scopolamine - atrocious things that could linger for several days yet. Coated in a thin sweat the young man moaned in his sleep, a just sleep indeed as he'd spent the last fourteen hours suffering from vivid hallucinations - both visual and aural. Shortly after Dominic left the room Davy began screaming in terror for what seemed like ages, struggling against his restraints as he fought to scramble away from imaginary spiders and flying insects twice his size. The buzzing of their wings, the gnashing of their teeth and the click of enormous tarsus - the hard pointy tips on a spiders feet - droned disturbingly in his ears louder than an F/A 18 Hornet flying by. The doctor had very little to offer the miserable lad, as comfort drugs were not high on Valducci's list of priorities: Heinrich, himself, had seen too many young men suffer at Dominic's hands, and had managed to smuggle in a few anti-hallucinogens, sedatives and pain killers.

  At the apex of Davy's visions, the doctor kindly injected him with a cocktail of Benzodiazepine and Thorazine, which put him into an immediate and fathomless sleep. Sadly, though the conscious hallucinations were temporarily headed-off, Davy would instead be at the mercy of his own sleeping mind. Dr. Heinrich was at the ready with a low dose of Risperidone, should Davy develop out-of-control nightmares that would send the sweet boy back into a state of uncontrolled panic. Exhausted from long hours of nursing the young man through his torment, the old German physician slept - unwillingly - unaware that the syringe in his hand was already needed: Davy's nightmares had ultimately begun. Not unlike the vivid scenes of an acid trip, bright colors and peculiar images morphed from one into another in a rapid-fire flip-book show before Davy's sleeping mind's eye:

                _Brightly colored giant butterflies touched down on his face as he lay on the sand, blue and yellow pixies dancing on the nearby dunes. He felt weighted down but was there was nary a thing visible holding him to the ground. A plague of locust swarmed in the air around him, scattering lemon drops everywhere, a yellow trail left in their wake. The sky above was moving so swiftly the clouds appeared like rapidly moving cars on blue pavement, set on an unstoppable collision course with one another. Whitish streaks of jetstream zigzagged in bizarre geometric patterns, transforming into furniture, houses and hashtags - suddenly an enormous pterodactyl appeared in the periphery, circling and swooping in a long dive directly toward him - panic ensuing as it careened in, screeching, barreling straight for his head! Still unable to move, Davy's eyes widedned as the predator zeroed in at break- neck speed. His virtual stomach churned as the winged beast reached its destination - snatching a butterfly from his cheek with a squawk and flying away with it in its clutches - the two slowly absorbing into a bright and flaming technicolor vortex that swirled directly over head. A sudden intense burning erupted from the skin on the young Manc's face, as blood began to seep from the three vertical cuts created by the birds razor-like talons. As orange thunderheads rolled in above, green and pink lightning flashing throughout it, Davy gurgled out a blood-curdling scream._

   Startled awake by the cacophanous howls of the terrified boy beside him, Dr. Heinrich snapped to attention. The syringe in his hand at the ready he mercifully intervened, plunging the dose of Risperidone into the PICC line situated on Davy's left hand. It's effects being immediate, the drug successfully stopped the young man from dreaming, thus inducing the first tranquil sleep he'd had in days. Taking the time to check all of Davy's vital sings, he noted everything in his log, turning away satisfied that the boy was temporarily in steady waters. Certainly not out of the reach of the psychosis he was immersed in, he knew that this was but a brief lull in the chaos that would be Davy's mind for the next couple of days. Scrubbing a hand roughly over his face, the doctor stepped across the room to get a much-needed cup of strong coffee and a cheese danish - supplies kept on hand for times such as this. With a heavy sigh he sat at the tiny table in the room's far corner, his attention still on the slumbering youth on the gurney. So many thoughts ran through his mind, as he contemplated the years of experiments, torture and other atrocities he'd performed at Dominic Valducci's behest. A lot of success, a few failures and a couple of outright losses had worn on him over time, and his conscience was catching up with him. His patients - _victims_ if the truth be told - seemed to be getting younger all the time, bringing with them a disparaging sense of guilt, regrets forming as he recalled the days of his youth and the reasons he became a physician in the first place: A little brother who died of polio many moons ago. Distinctly pained, he mulled over the idea his memories had conjured up, one that would surely cost him dearly should it fail to come to fruition, and sighed once more. Yes, he had a difficult decision to make - and when the time came, after Davy's recovery - he knew that it would be made in the name of his own lost sibling. Yes, he would chooses his own fate and that of Valducci the name of his beloved late brother: David.

 

  Back in the CCU Mike and Peter took turns sitting beside Micky's bed, talking to him about most anything they could think of - things that would make him laugh were he not in a state of catatonia. They mentioned Davy and the others as often as possible, as well as the predicament they were in, in an effort to promote the man's sleeping psyche to come out swinging at the frightful situation and the man behind it. They had thoroughly but gently cleaned the remnants of agent Flowers' visit (and undeniable interest) from his cheek, as its presence was annoying and made them mindful of the fact that they'd likely have to face the woman again soon: She gave them both the willies. Having grown bored they'd played a few games of rummy, and at Peter's pleading a round of Go Fish, as they continued to include Micky in their conversation.

  "Whatta ya say Shotgun," Mike directed his query to the torpid Italian, "queens or eights?" He received no response, not that he was expecting one, and turned back to his cards. "Have you got any .. eights Cotton?"

  "Go fish!" Peter said, a fake haughty grin on his lips as he wiggled his backside in his seat.

  "Figgers," Mike said, stuffing his drawn card into his hand, "should'a asked for queens."

The shift nurse stepped in then, doing her hourly checkup which consisted of measuring vital signs, changing Micky's IV, assessing his monitors and hoses - which were all in working order - and emptying his catheter bag. She spoke to him in a chirpy tone the whole while, telling him what a lovely day it was outside, discussing the latest sports scores and telling him about the new car she'd recently bought for her son. It gave Mike comfort to know she took her job to heart so much - she didn't have to speak to her patient. Knowing that it could help though, she was, and he and Peter smiled discreetly to each other. Turning to them, she asked a few brief questions before she moved on to her next patient.

  "Afternoon boys. Have there been any signs of Mr. Dolenz stirring at all?" "Nothing yet nurse Griffin," Peter replied sadly.

  "What about sounds - moans, snoring, flatulance?"

  "Not a theng," Mike replied, "which for Micky is just plum weird. He's always so … _loud_."

The small grin attached to the Texan's lips was delightful, illustrating a fondness and loving humor with regard to his band mate. Unfortunately, it never reached his eyes, which were still masked in a tight apprehension, the strain of everything that was occuring painting a deep sadness there.

  "You know, of course, to notify someone at the desk if any of that changes," she reminded them, "I have to finish my rounds," she said, giving both of their shoulders a reassuring squeeze as she stepped out.

  "I like her, she's such a nice lady," Peter enthused with a warm smile, "she is so caring and kind!"

  "That she is babe," Mike agreed.

The two returned to their card game, becoming engrossed in a casual conversation, chatting and laughing about nothing in particular. Behind them and going completely unnoticed by them, Micky's tongue poked out slightly to lick his dry bottom lip beneath the breathing tube, slipping back into his mouth without a soul having been the wiser.

 

  Nicky sat on the floor sagging to one side, utterly consumed with misery and guilt - he had failed to protect his little brother. Of course Davy was no longer a child, but the intervening years apart made it feel as though they picked up their lives together in a place very near their tender years, and Nicky still felt the same fierce protectiveness. Davy had been gone for close to twenty-one hours now and in Nicky's sleep-deprived state, the worst possibilities were all he could imagine. He sorely regretted now dismissing Dominic's threats with such smart-mouthed, sarcastic arrogance. His apathy had been an egotistical blunder for which Davy was now paying a huge price. Nicky had stopped crying some time ago, his throat raw, his sinuses stuffed to the point that air was impassable through the narrow channels. His energy spent, it was all he could do to hold himself in an upright position. An acidic fire blazed in his stomach, having not eaten since yesterday morning, and the duress he was under making his parietal cells work overtime - _not_ a pleasant combination.

  Already in a foul mood, melancholy, worried and full of guilt, Nicky knew he was in for a brand new cluster-fuck when he heard the approach of a single set of footsteps. Moments later, Dominic appeared in front of his cell, keys in hand, and proceeded to unlock the door. Choosing to stand this time, the older man surveyed the boy silently, appraising his current mental and physical state before diving in to conversation. Dirty and disheveled Nicky looked like the orphan boy Oliver before his transformation into an adopted member of a society of decent folk. Pale and looking peckish, the youth trembled - partially from fear - partly from hunger and fatigue. Raising his head Nicky finally met Valducci's eyes. The Don nearly gasped at the emptiness in the boys own usually bright, optimistic orbs, now vacant, colorless and void of any light. Expecting silent lips to mirror his absent eyes, the Don was fairly shocked when Nicky spoke up - not just at the action - but by the sound of the boy's wrecked voice.

  "Is my brother dead?"

  "He may wish that he was, but he is very much alive, Nicholas," Valducci said, finally finding his tongue.

Allowing his eyes to fall first, Nicky hung his head, silence once again becoming his only shield - guilt his heavy cloak.

  "He is with Heinrich in the medical wing - the operating theater to be exact."

His words, intended to incite the young man to a tantrum slid off the boy to land flatly, with no reprisal - not even a flinch. Dominic was perturbed, not accustomed to such a response to his taunting words. Disconcerted, he reloaded, gathering artillery that he was positive would have a greater impact.

  "I'm rather certain that David spent most of the night in terror Nicholas. Too unfortunate for him he has your stubborn streak - had he, or _you_ , only answered my questions willingly - he'd have not had to suffer the effects of the scopolamine."

Nothing.

  Not a sigh. Not a hateful glare. He barely blinked. At a complete loss, Dominic ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly as he came to the ends. In exasperation he took four long strides across the room, towering over Nicky, his body quivering with barely suppressed rage.

  " **WHAT IN GOD'S NAME IS WRONG WITH YOU**?! Have you not heard a _word_ I've _said_??"

Gesturing wildly the hot-headed Italian, never confronted with such a situation before, knew he was losing at his own game - and was not pleased. Fuming, he was about to launch himself at the mute lad seated before him, when Nicky raised his head, breaking his own reverie.

  "I've heard every word," he said, his voice low and dispassionate, "I've envisioned each torment and repeated every syllable in my head several times. Lashing out at you will not alter the course for my brother, he will suffer agony with or without a venomous litany of hate spilling from my lips. Holding it inside of me, however, will eat away at what is left of my heart and soul until the day I die. It's my fault he is suffering and I'll gladly do my penance. **_Sir_**."

  "As you wish, Nicholas. Be aware, my dear boy, that no matter how you _choose_ to make yourself miserable - you will _still_ be subjected to the punishment I have designed for you. In your _worst **nightmares**_ you could not conjure up the hell I have in store for you."

Without waiting for a reply or looking to see the effect of his words on the young man, Dominic turned and left. Slamming the metal bars with pent-up anger he turned the keys in the lock with a temperamental flourish and stalked away.

 

  Mira Flowers walked into the bureau coming back from lunch and sauntered over to her cubicle on the third floor of the building. She had a fabulous figure and model-quality good looks, and loved to show it off with form-fitting suits and a sway of her hips. Her flowing natural-blond hair was as soft as spun silk, luxuriantly thick and shone like the morning sun on a limpid pond. Bouncy and with a few waves, it framed her oval-shaped face perfectly, complementing her sunkist complexion that needed no makeup to enhance it. Feeling particularly chipper, she turned on her laptop to check her email - business first - then personal. She'd enjoyed a great lunch with a friend from college, the two ladies catching up over Mexican food and a margarita. It was a fantastic day indeed. Scrolling through her inbox on the bureaus private email server she noted several messages that could wait until later - two of which were regarding closed cases - most likely congratulations on a job well-done. As she was about to close out of the program to go to her g-mail, she saw a new message notification: It was from the bureau chief and head of the entire unit, Ted Hendricks. Eager to see what he had to say, she clicked on it immediately, reading the brief but articulate memo thoroughly.

     FROM: R THEODORE HENDRICKS, HEAD OF BUREAU

     TO: MIRACLE FLOWERS, AGENT

     SUBJECT: MEETING

  At your earliest convenience, please contact my office to schedule a meeting, preferably today. Details will be divulged at the meeting. Anticipating your call. R. T. Hendricks

  Excited, hoping she was being promoted or commended for something, she dialed Hendricks line right away. Connecting with his secretary, Mira was instructed to be at the chief's office at two-thirty - twenty minutes from now. Assuring her she would be in attendance, agent Flowers ended the call, freshened her perfume, applied fresh lipstick and brushed out her hair. Ten minutes later she left her cubicle and headed for the elevator to the fifth floor. Upon arriving at the Chiefs office, Mira was surprised to see her partner, agent Cortain, seated in one of the two wing-back chairs placed in front of Hendrick's large oak desk. Still assured that as a team they'd done something praiseworthy, she knocked on the open door to signal them of her presence.

  "Agent," chief Hendricks greeted briefly, "come in please, and do close the door."

Doing as asked, she sashayed over to stand beside the empty seat, looking very female, waiting for a proper invitation to take a seat.

  "Sit," Hendricks barked, pointing at the chair beside her. Suddenly nervous, Mira's left hand fluttered to her throat, twisting at her (fake) pearl necklace as she cautiously eased into the chair.

  "What can I do for you Sir?" She asked in her silkiest, most feminine voice.

  "It has come to my attention agent that we've had another complaint about your incessant and inappropriate lack of boundaries with the men you associate with while on a case."

Her eyes widened as he opened up a file folder on his desk, flipping through it's many pages.

She twisted the pearls a bit more.

  "Sir, I'm afraid I don't kno-"

  " _ **Eleven times** agent,_ " Hendricks interrupted, the volume of his voice slightly elevated, "this makes number twelve. Don't even play the clueless card with me, we both know I'm not going to buy it."

Casting a quick glance at agent Cortain, who appeared entirely too calm in her opinion, she spoke in her defense once again.

  "Am I not entitled to know who is making this accusation sir? I can't properly defend my own honor unless I'm fully informed as to what I'm up against."

  "You're up against a wall Ms. Flowers. I've been very forgiving of your continuous … professional faux pas in the past, **_too_** forgiving. You've repeatedly embarrassed not only yourself but the bureau - state and federal - and are now facing dismissal and litigation!"

Mira's pearls were making a faint squidgy grinding sound now, that everyone in the room could hear. Her eyes were large, her hands atremble - she sucked her bottom lip nervously until it was so swollen that she wore an unintentional pout.

  "I .. who? I haven't-"

  "Micky Dolenz," agent Cortain finally spoke, "and before you object we have video footage from the hospital of you entering and leaving him room in the CCU. Nice lip print you left by the way."

Pearls went pinging everywhere, bouncing across the top of Hendricks' desk, ticking against the wall and scattering helter-skelter around the linoleum-covered floor. Under different circumstances it would've been hysterical. Mira sat staring ahead but not seeing, her perfect sexy posture gone - replaced by a knock-kneed slump - she knew she was in over her pretty, blond head. "I'm sorry Mira," Hendricks said in a softer tone, "as of now you're suspended from duty, pending a hearing and any charges you may be brought up on. I'll need your badge and your weapon. You can clean out your desk and cubicle, and when you're finished, security will escort you to your vehicle and retrieve your parking permit."

She nodded, silently, rising from her seat and turning toward the door.

  "We'll be in _touch,"_ the chief said to her retreating back.

And with that, she was gone.

 

  With Tony's pleading and Nicky's odd behavior, Dominic had yielded to Tony's request to take their lunch and eat with Nicky in his cell. The Don had no concerns of the two plotting an escape or overthrow of power - he had too much muscle, armed and unarmed - within the compound to worry over such a triviality. That being swept aside, he instructed Marco to escort Tony to Nicky, Sal following behind with food and drinks. Still awake but very lethargic, Nicky was gobsmacked as his long-time friend strolled through the open bars of his cell, arms open wide as he knelt beside him.

  "Mon précieux Nicky, mon amour! Je suis tellement inquiet pour toi et Davy, dites-moi s'il vous plaît que vous allez bien - vous m'avez tellement manqué!"

His words - spoken in French to get around the two idiots - who were still lingering in the small room, served them both well in keeping a private conversation. Aware that they would learn nothing of value by lagging behind, Marco led his brother out, locking the two in the musty, chilly room and returned to their pinochle game.

  "Oh Nicky," Tony breathed, allowing himself now to show his true concerns, "what has happened to you?!"

  "It's nothing Papi," he shrugged weakly, "I am distraught but genuinely fine. They have Davy in the medical wing - they gave him scopolamine." A few tears dripped down his cheeks, belying his impassive posture and flippant, casual tone.

  "I know mi amore, but he is alive and by the very nature of the drug when used as a truth serum, he won't remember any of this. Don't worry yourself over him, Valducci is still in need of all of us. For the moment, his life is safe."

  "H-he won't? I wasn't aware of that. That brings me more relief than you could possibly imagine!" Nicky said, more animation in him than had been in more than a day.

  "You look so sickly, please Nicky, let's eat lunch."

  "I .. I'm not hungry."

  "Nicky, amore mio **_DEVI mangiare_**! Starving te stesso non sta andando a recuperare per qualsiasi cosa si sta incolpando di te stesso. You need to keep up your strength, if you won't do it for me - do it for Davy - he _needs_ you."

This last bit tipped the scales for him, and reluctantly, with a tiny smile, Nicky picked up a sandwich and slowly began to eat.

  "Tell me," Tony spoke between bites, "how badly did they hurt you? I see the traces of bruising still on your face," he sad sadly.

  "In truth, it was only two hits. Dominic backhanded me … Marco punched me in the mouth. You look worse than I do - what did that son-of-a-"

  "Language, Nicky," Tony interrupted, a small grin on his lips, "and while I won't go into detail, I had an ass-whipping like I haven't had since I was twelve. I am okay though."

  "Language Tony," Nicky grinned, "and I'm glad that you're okay."

They spent the better part of an hour eating and talking, finally divulging to one another the atrocities each one had faced at the hand of the Valduccis. With tears shed and hugs passed back and forth, both men felt much better when their time together had come to an end. With the hateful brothers standing in wait to take Tony back to his lonely lodgings, he spoke to Nicky openly what he felt was necessary to say.

  "Things are going to get worse, you must know that." Nicky nodded solemnly.

  "Do not give up Nicky - regardless of what happens to any of us, someone has to survive this thing - else anyone who doesn't, physically or mentally, will have been lost in vain. Someone has to tell the story. Know that I'll love you till the end of time."

Engulfing him in a tight hug, Tony kissed his forehead - curls and all. Then turning, he allowed himself to be led away.


End file.
